►•<►••- 


THE  LIBRARY  O^  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


"^7- 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


eC^ss^   ^L 


H.L4L.1  jl 


^u^^ie.^cy  ^  &,'-& 


f  -zr  r-*-< 


f%* 


, 


/pf/ 


s\ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00020906557 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


__PZ10.7 
•V813 
1850a 


This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
the  last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it 
may  be  renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE                           RET 
DUE 

DATE                           RET 
DUE 

- . ;  ~jZ. 

ob  5  (\  *>■[ 

Form  No.  5 1 3 
Rev,  1/84 

THE    VIOLET. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/violetchristmasnOOnewy 


ras-1^ 


THE    VIOLET 


%  Cljristmaa  attbr  fjhto  giafa  €ift. 


F72!ff  fliX  ENQEA  VINQS 

FEOM     DESIGNS     BY     GILBEET. 


T 

Neto  Yocfe: 

L  E  A  V  I  T  T     AND     ALLEN, 

379    BEOADfAY. 

-^  IC 

THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 


* 


* 


82CQ55 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Papa,  I  am  making  a  collection  of  seals," 
said  my  dear  little  daughter  Clara  to  me  one 
evening.  "  Will  you  give  me  some  from  those 
belonging  to  your  watch  ?" 

So  I  made  three  good  impressions  of  the 
seals  I  usually  carried ;  but  Clara  was  not  yet 
quite  satisfied,  for  after  examining  them  for 
some  minutes  she  said, 

"  Papa,  are  you  very  busy  just  now  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  very  busy :  I  am  only 
making  a  few  artificial  flies,  and  putting  my 
tackle  in  order,  for  spring  will  certainly  be 
here  in  a  few  weeks,  though  I  believe  that  my 

7 


8  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

dear  little  impatient  girl  quite  despairs  of  ever 
seeing  violets  or  primroses  again." 

"  Oh  then,  papa,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
tell  me  the  meaning  of  the  seals  you  have  given 
me  ?  I  mean  of  the  two  smaller  ones ;  for  the 
other  has  only  your  coat  of  arms.  Mamma 
has  explained  to  me  all  the  other  seals  in  my 
collection." 

"  I  can  do  that,  Clara,  while  I  go  on  with 
my  fly  making.  Tell  me  then  what  you  see 
upon  the  seal  you  are  now  looking  at." 

"  I  see  a  pillar  standing  upright,  surrounded 
by  other  broken  pillars,  and  ruins  on  the 
ground;  and  the  motto  is  Latin,  I  believe, 
'  Urectus,  tutus/ — what  is  the  meaning  of  that, 
papa  ?" 

"  The  English  of  ■  the  two  words  is  '  Safe 
whilst  upright,'  which  you  can  easily  under- 
stand as  applied  to  the  pillar;  but  it  also 
means,  that  men,  or  women,  or  little  children 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  9 

are  safe,  so  long  as  they  are  upright  and 
honest,  in  their  conduct  towards  God  and  man. 
Now  what  does  the  other  seal  bear?" 

"  I  do  not  much  like  it.  There  is  a  sort  of 
tower,  which  I  am  pretty  sure  is  meant  for  a 
lighthouse,  and  no  motto,  but  the  date,  July 
21st. Ah,  I  cannot  make  out  the  year,  be- 
cause it  is  in  those  tiresome  letters  which  al- 
ways puzzle  me  so.  What  can  be  the  mean- 
ing of  the  lighthouse,  papa?  What  do  you 
whisper  to  mamma  for,  and  why  do  you  nod  at 
each  other  so?" 

"  I  asked  your  mamma  whether  she  thought 
her  daughter  Clara  was  old  enough  to  be  made 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  a  family  who 
once  inhabited  this  lighthouse.  She  says  I 
may  relate  the  story  to  you.  Well  then,  to 
explain  this  mysterious  seal,  which  you  say 
you  do  not  much  like,  but  which  I  would  not 
part  with  for  all  the  seals  in  the  world,  I  will 


10  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

read  you  a  little  tale  which  I  wrote  several 
years  ago,  on  purpose  for  my  dear  Clara's 
amusement  and  instruction." 

"  A  tale,  papa  !  I  thought  you  were  going 
to  relate  a  true  history." 

"  It  is  quite  true,  my  child ;  so  bring  your 
chair  close  to  mine,  and  if  possible,  remain 
patiently,  without  asking  any  questions,  till  I 
have  finished ;  and  above  all  things,  take  care 
that  you  do  not  run  these  fish-hooks  into  your 
arm.     I  have  called  the  tale 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE   OF  FLY-AWAY 
POINT. 

Old  Tom  Haddock,  the  fisherman,  had  had 
a  lucky  day  with  his  nets,  and  was  sitting  in 
the  porch,  at  the  door  of  his  cottage,  enjoy- 
ing his  pipe  and  cup  of  cider,  and  now  and 
then  talking  to  his  wife,  who  was  busily  en- 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  11 

gaged  in-doors,  making  a  savoury  dish  of 
fried  fish  and  potatoes. 

"  I  say,  old  woman,"  exclaimed  Tom, 
"good-bye  to  the  fine  weather ;  we  shall  cer- 
tainly have  a  blow  to-night.  A  regular  gale, 
you  know ;  if  we  don't,  you  may  say  I  know 
nothing  about  wind  and  weather." 

No  reply  was  heard  from  within,  and  Tom 
remained  silent  for  some  time,  during  which 
he  finished  his  pipe  and  drained  his  cider- 
cup  to  the  bottom,  and  pulled  out  his  old 
turnip-shaped  watch  to  observe  the  exact 
minute  when  the  light  would  appear  in  the 
lighthouse  on  Fly-away  Point,  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  bay.  This  Point  was  distant 
from  Haddock's  cottage  about  five  miles  in 
a  direct  line,  but  more  than  six  by  land. 
Now  you  must  know  that  it  is  a  rule  for  all 
lighthouses  to  be  lighted  up  exactly  at  sun- 
set,  which,    according    to    Tom's    almanack, 


12  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

took  place  at  three  minutes  past  eight  o'clock 
on  the  evening  our  tale  begins.  On  this 
particular  evening,  however,  there  appeared 
to  be  an  unaccountable  difference  between 
the  time  at  the  Point  and  at  the  fisherman's 
cottage;  for  though  his  watch  declared  that 
it  was  twenty  minutes  past  eight  o'clock, 
and  the  increasing  twilight  confirmed  the 
assertion,  still  no  light  was  visible  on  Ply- 
away  Point. 

Half-past  eight !  and  Tom  could  keep 
silence  no  longer.  So  hobbling  into  the 
house,  he  exclaimed,  "  Here,  wife  !  Betty  ! 
There's  something  the  matter  over  the  other 
side.  Here,  it  is  twenty-seven  minutes  past 
sun-down,  and  Hawkins  don't  show  a  light 
yet.  And  he  such  a  careful,  steady  fellow 
too,  and  one  that  knows  his  duty  so  well! 
Many's  the  time  he  has  .told  me  that  he 
wouldn't  be  ten  minutes  behind-hand  in  light- 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  13 

ing  up  for  as  many  guineas;  for,  says  he, 
( My  masters,  the  Trinity  Gentlemen,  are  good, 
kind-hearted  masters  in  the  main,  but  they 
make  their  servants  do  their  duty.  If  I 
neglect  mine,  out  of  this  house  I  go,  that's 
certain.'  So  you  see  there  must  be  some- 
thing terribly  wrong  at  the  Point,  for  even 
if  Hawkins  was  ill,  his  wife  can  manage 
the  lamps  pretty  nearly  as  well  as  he  can." 

Mrs.  Haddock,  however,  did  not  appear 
so  much  interested  about  the  affair  as  her 
helpmate,  and  rather  nettled  him  by  saying, 
"  Pooh,  nonsense !  What  a  fuss  the  man 
makes !  Depend  upon  it,  it  is  all  right : 
either  your  watch  is  too  fast,  or  there's  a 
fog  over  the  Point,  so  that  you  can't  see  the 
light." 

"  I  tell  ye  my  watch  is  never  too  fast,  nor 

too  slow   neither ;  and   though   it    does   rain 

pretty  smartly  over  the  other  side,  I  can  seo 
2 


14  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

the  lighthouse,  but  not  a  glimmer  of  light  in 
the  lantern.  '  My  life  for  it,  there  is  some- 
thing amiss,'  as  the  lobster  said  when  the 
cook  threw  him  into  the  hot  water." 

"  Well,  but  my  good  man,"  replied  his 
wife,  leaving  her  cookery  for  a  moment,  and 
going  to  the  door,  "there  must  be  ' some- 
thing amiss'  with  your  old  eyes,  for  I  can 
see  the  light  plainly  enough." 

"  So  can  I  now,  I  declare  !"  said  the  fish- 
erman. "Ah!  now  it  brightens  up  fast.  Thank 
Heaven,  Hawkins  has  come  to  himself  at 
last !  But  what  could  have  made  him  half 
an  hour  behind  his  time?  Well,  let  us 
hope  the  Trinity  Gentlemen  will  never  hear 
of  it :  they  shall  never  know  any  thing  of  it 
from  me,  for  that  Hawkins  is  as  kind-hearted 
a  man  as  ever  breathed,  and  so  is  his  wife — a 
kind-hearted  woman,  I  mean.  How  good  she 
Was   to  you,   Betty,    last   winter,    when   you 


»  4^ 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  15 

were  laid  on  your  beam-ends  with  the  plum- 
bago, or  whatever  they  call  it." 

"Ah  !  Heaven  bless  her,"  replied  Betty. 
"  If  ever  angels  live  in  lighthouses,  she's  one. 
But  who  can  this  be  coming  across  the  sands  ? 
Get  your  glass,  Tom,  and  take  a  look  at  her." 

Haddock's  old-fashioned  wooden  spy-glass 
was  as  great  a  favourite  as  his  watch,  though 
the  tube  was  split  and  bound  round  with 
twine,  and  one  of  the  glasses  was  cracked  so 
as  to  divide  the  field  of  view  into  three 
pretty  nearly  equal  portions.  But  Tom  had 
looked  through  this  glass  for  so  many  years 
that  the  cracks  did  not  incommode  him  in  the 
least;  and  after  half  a  minute's  examination 
of  the  approaching  stranger,  he  exclaimed, 
"'Tis  your  lighthouse  angel,  Betty!  No 
'tisn't. — It  is  though: — 'tis  Mrs.  Hawkins 
herself!  I  should  have  known  her  before 
if  her  face  hadn't   been  hidden    behind  her 


16  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

umbrella.  She  has  got  the  rain  before  us, 
but  we  shall  soon  have  it  here  by  buckets- 
full  ;  and  look  what  a  squall  there  is  over  the 
Point.  But  to  think  of  her  walking  over  by 
herself!  'What's  going  to  happen  .next  ?'  as 
the  mackerel  said  when  he  saw  the  sprat  with 
an  admiral's  gold-laced  hat  upon  his  head." 

Never  were  three  pair  of  eyes  opened 
wider  in  astonishment  than  those  of  Mrs.  Haw- 
kins, Haddock,  and  his  wife,  after  they  had 
exchanged  a  few  hurried  questions  and  replies,, 

Mrs.  Hawkins  said  that,  early  in  the 
afternoon,  a  man  dressed  like  a  sailor,  with 
a  handkerchief  tied  over  his  eye,  had  called 
at  the  lighthouse,  and  begged  that  she  would 
lose  no  time  in  going  over  to  the  fisherman's 
cottage,  as  Mrs.  Haddock  was  taken  sud- 
denly and  dangerously  ill.  So,  as  soon  as 
she  had  arranged  her  family  affairs,  the 
benevolent   woman   packed   up  a  few  simple 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  17 

medicines  in  a  basket,  for  she  had  no  con- 
temptible knowledge  of  the  healing  art,  and 
set  off  by  herself  for  a  six  miles'  walk  over 
the  sands,  not  without  many  expressions  of 
regret  from  her  husband  that  he  was  unable 
to  accompany  her. 

Sadly  perplexed  she  was  when  she  found 
that  old  Betty  Haddock  was  in  excellent 
health,  that  she  had  sent  no  message,  and 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  sailor-like  man 
with  the  handkerchief  tied  oyer  his  eye.  Of 
course  Mrs.  Hawkins  could  not  explain  the 
mysterious  affair  of  the  late  appearance  of 
the  Fly-away  light  that  evening,  as  she 
left  home  long  before  sunset;  but  she  was 
firm  in  her  belief  that  her  good  man  had  not 
neglected  his  trust.  So  all  the  blame  was 
laid  upon  Tom's  old  watch. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  willingly  consented  to  re- 
main that  night  at  the  cottage ;  and  the  rest 


lb  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

of  the  evening  was  spent  in  endeavouring  to 
discover  some  motive  for  this  ill-natured 
hoax,  and  in  discussing  the  supper  of  fried 
fish  and  potatoes. 

Old  Tom,  as  he  rolled  over  in  his  bed  for 
the  last  time  before  he  finally  settled  for  the 
night,  muttered  to  himself:  "My  watch 
serve  me  such  a  trick  as  this? — Impossible! 
Well,  we  shall  see  all  about  it  in  the  morn- 
ing, for  I'll  walk  to  the  Point  with  Mrs. 
Hawkins,  on  purpose  to  ask  her  husband 
about  it.  But  how  it  does  blow  and  rain ! 
A  bad  time  of  it  for  them  that  are  at  sea ! 
'Poor  fellows,  I  pity  them,'  as  the  porpoise 
said  when  he"— 

The  sentence  was  finished  by  an  incipient 
snore,  and  the  sentiment  expressed  by  the 
benevolent  porpoise  is  lost  to  posterity  for 
ever. 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  19 


CHAPTER  H. 

Let  us  now  cross  the  little  bay,  and  ascer- 
tain for  ourselves  whether  honest  James 
Hawkins  was  a  trustworthy  light-keeper  or 
not.  But  before  we  enter  his  house,  we 
must  take  a  view  of  the  barren  and  desolate 
headland  on  which  it  was  perched. 

Desolate  indeed,  and  almost  out  of  the 
world  it  seemed!  Not  a  trace  of  vegetable 
life,  not  the  slightest  tint  of  green,  could  be 
detected  on  the  face  of  its  perpendicular 
cliffs,  of  more  than  three  hundred  feet  in 
height;  and  although  the  level  space  on 
which  the  lighthouse  stood  had  a  scanty 
covering   of    soil,    only   a    little    parched-up 


20  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

grass  and  a  few  hardy  stunted  plants  could 
be  found  even  there.  Hardy  indeed  must 
the  constitution  of  a  plant  be,  to  bear  the 
tremendous  winds  and  driving  salt  mist 
which  at  times  visited  the  summit  of  Cape 
Fly-away. 

But  how  did  this  Point  obtain  such  a 
remarkable  and  inappropriate  name  ?  I  can- 
not tell  you ;  but  perhaps  it  might  have  been 
so  called  because,  when  seen  from  a  distance, 
its  gray  colour  and  rounded  outline  gave  it 
somewhat  the  appearance  of  a  fog  or  cloud 
upon  the  horizon.  Now,  when  a  young 
sailor,  or  a  landsman,  sees  what  he  believes 
to  be  distant  land,  but  which  his  more  ex- 
perienced companions  detect  to  be  nothing 
but  a  bank  of  clouds,  they  say,  "  'Tis  only 
Cape  Fly-away."  And  well  would  it  have 
been  for  many  a  shipwrecked  mariner  if  our 
Cape  Fly-away  had  been  composed  of  mate- 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  21 

rials  as  unsubstantial  as  a  bank  of  clouds; 
for,  alas !  many  and  very  dreadful  had  been 
the  disasters  which  these  gray  cliffs  had  wit- 
nessed. In  consequence  of  these  frequent 
wrecks  on  the  Point,  or  rather  upon  a  trea- 
cherous reef  of  rocks  which  extended  several 
miles  beyond  it,  about  two  years  before 
our  tale  begins,  the  lighthouse  had  been 
erected,  and  had  proved  so  effectual  in  warn- 
ing vessels  from  too  near  an  approach  to  the 
dangerous  coast,  that  during  that  time  only 
one  wreck  had  occurred.  Can  you  then  be- 
lieve that  there  were  demons  in  the  human 
form  who  regretted  the  establishment  of  this 
light?  I  grieve  to  say  that  such  wretches 
existed,  and  that  their  wicked  devices  had 
nearly  succeeded  in  bringing  about  the  de- 
struction of  some  hundreds  of  their  fellow- 
creatures. 

In   a   deep,   sheltered  bay,   on  the   other 


22  THE.  LIGHTHOUSE. 

side  of  the   Point,    was   the   miserable  little 
village  of   Crabton  Magna,  consisting  of  not 
more  than   thirty  houses,   or    rather    hovels. 
I  could  never  discover  where    Crabton  Parva 
was  situated,  or  what  was  its  size,  or  popula- 
tion ;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  tale. 
Our  Crabton  was  inhabited   by  men  calling 
themselves  fishermen,   but   whose  subsistence 
depended   chiefly   upon   smuggling ;  and,  be- 
fore the  erection  of  the  lighthouse,  upon  the 
rich    booty   which    they  obtained   from    the 
vessels  whose  evil  destiny  threw  them  upon 
the  reef.     Finding,  then,  that  this  source  of 
profit  was  taken  from  them,  they  had  devised 
a  plan  for  extinguishing  this  warning  beacon, 
for  a  short  time  at  least ;  for,  said  they,  "  If 
we  can  but  put  out  the  light  for  one  good, 
blowing,  dark  night,  we  shall  be  pretty  sure 
to  have  two  or  three  vessels   ashore   before 
morning." 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  23 

So  they  consulted  together,  and  laid  their 
plans  accordingly.  We  have  seen  that  they 
succeeded  in  deceiving  Mrs.  Hawkins,  by 
a  feigned  message  from  the  Haddocks, 
which  induced  her  to  leave  home  for  a 
night ;  but  how  to  manage  with  her  husband 
was  a  much  more  difficult  matter.  To  learn 
how  this  part  of  their  scheme  was  brought 
about,  we  must  take  a  peep  at  the  light- 
house shortly  after  good  Mrs.  Hawkins  had 
set  off  on  her  expedition. 

A  thoroughly  substantial,  well-constructed 
building  this  lighthouse  was ;  and  very 
needful  it  was  that  it  should  be  well-con- 
structed, to  enable  it  to  withstand  the  awful 
gales  it  was  frequently  exposed  to.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  round  tower,  eighty  feet  in  height, 
with  a  circular  stone  staircase  ;  and  on  the 
top  of  the  tower  was  the  lantern,  or  the  place 
in   which    the   light   was   exhibited.      But   if 


24  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

you  have  never  visited  a  lighthouse,  you  can 
have  very  little  idea  of  the  sort  of  place 
this  lantern  was.  Perhaps  you  think  it 
might  have  been  something  like  the  small 
glass  lanterns  which  you  have  seen  people 
carrying  in  their  hands  on  dark  nights. 
Not  at  all  like  them,  my  dear  little  girl  or 
boy,  who  may  have  honoured  me  by  taking 
this  book  into  your  hand.  The  lantern  of 
this  lighthouse  was  an  octagonal  room,  large 
enough  to  contain  ten  or  twelve  persons. 
The  roof  was  made  of  copper,  and  the  sides 
were  composed  partly  of  copper  and  partly 
of  large  panes  of  very  thick  plate-glass,  set 
in  iron  frames.  This  very  strong  glass  is 
always  used  in  lighthouses,  and  is  quite 
necessary,  because  they  are  generally  built 
in  very  exposed,  windy  situations,  where 
common  window-glass  would  be  blown  to 
pieces.     Sometimes,    also,    it    happens,    that 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  25 

sea-fowl  are  attracted  by  the  light,  as  moths 
often  are  by  a  candle ;  and  such  heavy  birds 
as  wild  ducks  and  geese,  dashing  themselves 
against  the  glass,  would  shiver  it  to  atoms, 
if  it  were  not  unusually  thick  and  strong. 
Notwithstanding  this  precaution,  it  has  some- 
times happened  that  a  large  bird  has  flown 
with  such  violence  against  the  lantern 
that  the  glass  has  been  broken ;  and  I  have 
myself  seen  a  pane  of  very  thick  plate-glass 
which  had  been  so  broken  by  a  wild-duck. 
The  bird  was  killed  by  the  blow,  of  course : 
and  in  this  manner  light-keepers  sometimes 
obtain  a  nice  meal,  which  is  particularly 
acceptable  to  those  who  are  stationed  on 
rocks,  or  small  islands,  where  a  supply  of 
fresh  meat  cannot  always  be  procured. 

Sometimes  the  whole  of  the  sides  of  the 
lantern  are  of  glass;  but  in  the  Fly-away 
lighthouse  the    part    towards    the   land   was 


26  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

composed  of  copper  plates,  for  there  would 
have  been  no  use  in  exhibiting  a  light  in  that 
direction. 

In  the  middle  of  the  lantern  was  an  iron 
frame,  on  which  were  hung  eight  large 
lamps,  very  similar  to  those  which  we  use 
in  our  parlours ;  but  instead  of  a  globe  of 
ground  glass,  they  were  each  surrounded 
by  a  very  large  reflector  made  of  copper, 
and  coated  with  silver  on  the  inside.  By 
means  of  these  reflectors,  which  were  always 
kept  as  bright  and  polished  as  a  looking- 
glass,  the  light  of  the  lamps  was  so  much 
increased,  that,  in  clear  weather,  it  could  be 
seen  at  the  distance  of  thirty  miles. 

James  Hawkins  and  his  family  did  not 
live  in  the  tower,  but  in  a  very  nice,  well- 
built  house  at  the  foot  of  it ;  and  no  expense 
had  been  spared  in  making  this  house  as 
comfortable    as    it   was    possible    to    be,   in 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  27 

such  a  dreary  exposed  situation.  You 
would  have  been  pleased  to  have  seen  how 
thick  the  walls  were,  how  strongly  the  doors 
and  window-frames  were  made,  and  how 
tightly  they  fitted.  But  all  the  comfort 
was  inside  of  the  house;  for  if  you  looked 
out  of  the  door  or  window,  the  prospect  was 
dreary  enough.  To  be  sure,  there  was  a 
magnificent  view  of  the  ocean,  and  of 
the  stupendous  cliffs,  whose  base  was  washed 
by  the  waves;  but  a  prospect  of  water 
and  rock  alone  would  soon  have  wearied 
your  eyes,  and  made  you  long  for  a 
sight  of  green  trees  and  of  quiet  meadows 
again. 

But  a  naturalist  might  have  found  some 
employment  on  these  cliffs.  He  might  have 
collected  some  rare  and  beautiful  lichens 
which  grow  on  the  rocks,  and  which  are  never 
to  be  found  at  a  distance  from  the  sea ;  and 


28  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

he  would  have  been  delighted  with  watching 
the  immense  flocks  of  sea-birds  that  had 
chosen  Cape  Fly-away  for  a  summer  home, 
and  reared  their  families  in  the  caverns  and 
ledges  of  the  cliffs.  Here  might  be  seen 
puffins,  razor-bills,  guillemots,  and  several 
different  kinds  of  gulls ;  but  for  a  description 
of  these  birds  I  must  refer  you  to  books  of 
natural  history.  I  will,  however,  inform  you, 
that  though  they  differ  very  much  from 
each  other  in  form  and  colour,  they  are 
alike  in  this,  they  are  all  extremely  fond 
of  fish,  and  very  expert  in  catching  it.  A 
little  boy  of  my  acquaintance  once  remark- 
ed to  me,  that  there  was  another  point  of 
resemblance  between  them. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  he,  "that  white 
waistcoats  are  quite  the  fashion  with  these 
sea-birds." 

He  was  right,  for  the  breasts  of  the  birds 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  29 

I  have  mentioned,  and  of  many  other  sea- 
fowl,  are  as  white  as  snow ;  and  even  those 
that  frequent  the  shores  of  muddy  rivers, 
and  are  constantly  swimming  and  diving  in 
dirty  water,  almost  always  contrive  to  keep 
their  "  waistcoats"  clean  and  spotless.  But 
I  am  so  fond  of  birds  myself,  and  es- 
pecially of  these  beautiful  sea-birds,  that 
I  forget  that  others  may  not  feel  much  in- 
terest on  the  subject.  I  must  now  tell  you 
something  more  about  the  inhabitants  of  the 
lighthouse. 

The  father  of  Hawkins  had  been  a  mate 
of  a  ship,  and  James  himself  had  been  bred 
up  a  sailor,  and  had  made  many  voyages, 
but  had  been  induced  to  leave  the  sea,  partly 
because  he  did  not  much  like  the  employ- 
ment, but  chiefly  because  he  had  married  a 
wife,    and   thought    it    his    duty  to    stay   at 

home,    and   take    care    of  .her    and    of   his 
3* 


30  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

child.  So,  being  fond  of  reading  and  re- 
tirement, he  applied  for  his  present  situa- 
tion, and  succeeded  in  obtaining  it,  through 
the  interest  of  a  merchant,  his  former 
employer.  Mrs.  Hawkins  is  known  to 
you  already,  and  I  have  very  little  more 
to  say  about  her,  except  that  she  was 
the  daughter  of  a  respectable  tradesman, 
and  that  a  better  wife  or  mother  never 
existed. 

And  her  sweet  little  girl,  Clara,  now  just 
ten  years  of  age,  deserved  a  good  and  care- 
ful mother.  Must  I  draw  Clara's  picture? 
No,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  do  so,  for  I  have 
no  talent  in  describing  persons ;  and,  indeed, 
where  is  the  artist  who  can  portray  form 
and  features  with  no  better  materials  than 
pen  and  paper?  Even  the  skilful  portrait- 
painter  finds  it  his  most  difficult  task  to 
transfer   childish  beauty  to  his    canvas,  and 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  31 

it  generally  happens  that,  after  a  rigid  side- 
by-side  examination  of  the  painting  and  the 
original,  we  are  obliged  to  confess,  "  The 
eyes  are  exactly  the  right  colour,  so  are  the 
hair  and  eyebrows,  and  how  well  the  artist 
has  succeeded  with  the  beautiful  transpa- 
rent complexion !  I  can  find  no  fault  with 
the  form  of  the  features;  and  that  sweet 
smile  upon  the  lips  is  like,  oh,  very 
like  ! — still — it  is  unreasonable,  certainly — , 
but  so  it  is — altogether  I  am  sadly  disap- 
pointed." 

Let  me  endeavour  to  assign  a  cause  for 
this  melancholy  failure ;  but  I  am  an  ec- 
centric being,  and  my  explanation  may  ap- 
pear foolishness  to  others.  Who  ivas  it 
that  had  compassion  upon  little  children, 
and  caressed  them,  saying,  "  Of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  ?"  Now,  to  me,  these 
tv  ords  explain  the  mystery :  and  thus  we  see 


32  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

in  many  sweet  young  faces  an  expression 
of  heavenly  innocence  and  purity,  which  we 
look  for  in  vain  in  those  of  riper  years ;  and 
this  expression  the  utmost  skill  of  the  artist 
never  has  been  and  never  will  be  able  to 
portray !  His  clumsy  materials  cannot  imi- 
tate it;  with  an  equal  chance  of  success 
might  he  attempt  to  paint  a  sweet  sound  or 
odour. 

Well,  then,  if  I  cannot  describe  little 
Clara's  features,  what  shall  I  say  of  her 
temper  and  disposition  ?  Young  ladies  who 
may  chance  to  read  these  pages,  I  assure 
you  that  she  possessed  almost  all  the  good 
with  hardly  any  of  the  unpleasant  parts  of 
your  characters,  if  you  will  pardon  me  for 
supposing  that  you  may  not  be  quite  per- 
fect. 

Young  gentlemen,  if  you  will  have  pa- 
tience to  read  this  story  to  the  end,  you  will 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  33 

see  that  she  showed  courage  and  determina- 
tion which  yon  might  have  been  proud  of  at 
her  age.  But  I  must  leave  off  praising  her, 
and  go  on  with  my  tale. 


34:  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Clara  and  her  father  had  accompanied  Mrs. 
Hawkins  for  a  short  distance  on  her  way  to 
the  fisherman's,  and,  since  their  retnrn,  had 
been  amusing  themselves  by  reading  and 
conversing,  for  James  was  never  weary  of  the 
society  of  his  dear  little  girl.  Then  they 
walked  together  to  a  curious  valley,  or  fis- 
sure in  the  cliffs,  where,  under  the  shelter 
of  an  overhanging  rock,  James  had  erected 
a  covered  seat  of  rough  boards.  Clara 
called  it  her  summer-7iouse,  but  it  had  more 
the  appearance  of  a  large,  ill-built  watch- 
box.  However,  it  was  a  very  favourite  sta- 
tion of  hers  in  fine  weather,  especially  when 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  35 

the  birds  were  breeding,  for  at  this  spot  the 
rocks  below  and  on  each  side  were  thronged 
by  the  numerous  flocks  of  sea-fowl  I  have 
mentioned.  On  almost  every  projecting 
ledge  might  now  be  seen  a  company  of 
queer,  demure-looking  puffins  and  guille- 
mots, sitting  erect  on  their  tails,  apparently, 
for  the  legs  of  these  birds  are  placed  so  far 
back  that  they  cannot  stand  in  any  other 
position.  Not  only  on  the  rocks,  but  in  the 
air,  and  on  the  water  below,  almost  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  distinguish  them,  might  be  seen 
myriads  of  these  birds,  swimming,  diving, 
and  flying  backwards  and  forwards  with 
food  for  their  young  families.  A  sensitive 
nose  might  even  have  detected  a  faint,  in- 
describable odour  diffused  through  the  at- 
mosphere, by  the  near  neighbourhood  of  so 
many  fish-fed  bodies.  It  was  very  amus- 
ing  to  observe  the  old  birds  as  they  came 


36  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

in  from  the  sea,  with  a  sprat,  or  other  small 
fish,  hanging  out  at  each  side  of  their  bills; 
and  little  Clara  laughed  heartily  at  a  mis- 
chance which  sometimes  befell  them.  For 
the  wings  of  these  birds  are  extremely  small 
in  proportion  to  the  size  of  their  bodies,  and 
though  their  great  strength  enables  them  to 
fly  very  fast,  they  cannot  do  what  a  robin 
or  a  sparrow  would  find  very  easy.  They 
cannot  fly  from  one  ledge  of  rock  to  an- 
other immediately  above  them,  without  first 
taking  a  wide  circuit  in  the  air,  till  they 
have  gradually  raised  their  heavy  bodies 
to  the  necessary  height.  It  therefore  some- 
times happened,  much  to  Clara's  amuse- 
ment, that  when  an  old  bird,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  fish,  had  arrived  just  opposite  to  his 
intended  landing  place,  he  would  find  that  he 
had  made  a  little  mistake  in  calculating  the 
distance,   and  that   he  was  not  high  enough 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  31 

by  a  few  feet.  The  discovery  was  very  an- 
noying, no  doubt,  to  a  parent  anxious  tc 
satisfy  the  cravings  of  a  hungry  family ;  bul 
there  was  only  one  way  of  remedying  the 
mistake: — the  long,  circuitous  flight  must  be 
taken,  till  the  clumsy  bird  had  reached  the 
proper  elevation. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset  James  re- 
collected that  it  was  time  for  him  to  perform 
his  usual  evening  task  of  fetching  a  small  cask 
of  water  from  the  spring,  for  there  was  no 
well  at  the  lighthouse.  So,  leaving  his  little 
girl  at  home,  with  the  cask  on  his  shoulder, 
and  a  small  tin  cup  and  a  funnel  in  his 
hand,  he  proceeded,  first  for  about  half  a 
mile  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff  towards 
Crabton,  and  then  descended  by  a  steep 
and  rugged  path,  till  he  reached  a  little 
pebbly  beach,  where  the  spring  trickled  slowly 
down  from  the  rock.     But  a  long  dry  sea- 


38  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

son  had  so  much  diminished  the  supply,  that 
when  James  had  about  half  filled  his  cask 
he  was  obliged  to  wait  some  time  before  the 
little  pool  from  which  he  dipped  the  water  had 
.  again  filled. 

Seated  on  a  flat  stone,  with  his  eyes 
directed  towards  the  top  of  the  cliff,  he 
observed  three  men  standing  in  a  narrow 
part  of  the  path,  and  apparently  watching 
his  movements.  He  wondered  what  they 
could  be  doing  there,  for  the  little  beach 
was  quite  unfrequented,  except  by  those 
who  came  for  water,  and  if  these  men 
wanted  a  supply,  why  did  they  not  descend? 
But  as  honest  James  Hawkins  had  never 
given  any  man  cause  to  be  his  enemy,  he 
did  not  suspect  them  of  an  evil  design,  and 
he  was  proceeding  to  fill  his  water  cask, 
when,  accidentally  casting  his  eyes  sea- 
wards,  he  beheld  a  sight  which  might  have 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  39 

made  no  impression  whatever  upon  any 
man  but  a  light -keeper,  but  which  caused 
him  to  desist  from  his  employment,  and 
hasten  homewards  immediately.  In  short, 
he  beheld  the  angry,  stormy-looking  sun 
so  near  the  horizon,  that  it  was  evident  he 
had  not  a  moment  to  lose,  if  he  wished  to 
reach  home  before  lighting-up  time.  There- 
fore, with  his  half-filled  cask  on  his  shoulder, 
he  ascended  the  steep,  zigzag  path,  without 
pausing  to  rest,  till,  in  a  narrow  pass  between 
two  masses  of  rock,  he  found  his  progress 
obstructed  by  the  three  men  he  had  before 
observed  from  below,  but  in  his  haste  to  reach 
home  he  had  entirely  forgotten  them. 

Although  his  face  was  concealed  as  much 
as  possible  by  a  handkerchief,  and  by  a  large 
black  wig,  which  ill  agreed  with  his  fiery  red 
whiskers,  James  immediately  recognised  one 
of  these  men  as  Ben  Bludgeon,  a  notorious 


40  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

wrecker  and  smuggler,  living  at  Crabton ;  but 
the  other  two  men  were  strangers  to  him,  for 
he  had  very  little  communication  with  the 
half-civilized  inhabitants  of  this  village. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Hawkins,  in  a  civil 
tone,  finding  that  the  men  did  not  make  way 
for  him :  "I  will  thank  you  to  let  me  pass, 
my  friends." 

"  Keep  your  friendship  to  yourself  I" 
growled  Bludgeon ;  "  you  don't  pass  this  way 
to-night,  I  can  tell  ye :  so  trot  down  again, 
my  man,  or  'twill  be  all  the  worse  for  you." 

"  Not  pass  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  tell  you 
I  must  pass,  and  immediately,  too,  for  I  am 
already  too  late.  Perhaps  you  don't  know 
me  ?  I  am  Hawkins,  of  the  lighthouse ;  and, 
depend  upon  it,  you  will  be  made  to  repent 
this  uncivil  treatment,  Mr. " 

Here  James  checked  himself  suddenly, 
recollecting   how   imprudent   it  was  to  show 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  41 

that  he  had  detected  a  man  who  evidently 
wished  to  remain  disguised.  Well  was  it  for 
him  that  he  did  not  mention  Bludgeon's 
name,  for  the  ruffian,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  hilt  of  a  long  knife,  concealed  under  his 
coat,  muttered  in  a  hollow  voice  : — 

"  Mr.  who  ?  Why  don't  you  go  on  ?  Come, 
you  know  me,  do  you,  my  lad?" 

Our  friend  saw  that  he  was  in  iminent 
danger,  and,  with  great  presence  of  mind, 
replied : 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  Mr.  Barton,  and  I 
entreat  you  to  let  me  pass  quietly.  You 
know  of  what  importance  it  is  that  I  should 
be  at  my  post,  to-night  especially,  for  we  are 
going  to  have  a  rough  time  of  it." 

James  said  this  with  a  steady  countenance, 

with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  villain's  face,  and 

saw  that  he   had   succeeded   in   quieting   his 

suspicions,  for  Ben  merely  replied : 
4* 


42  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

"Ay,  ay,  other  people  can  tell  when  'tis 
going  to  blow  as  well  as  you  can.  But,  come, 
let  us  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense ;  either 
go  back  quietly,  or  we'll  serve  ye  this  way," 
giving  James's  water-cask  a  kick,  which  sent 
it  rolling  down  the  path,  and  it  was  dashed 
to  pieces  long  before  it  reached  the  bottom. 

After  some  further  remonstrance,  James 
saw  that  it  was  useless  to  contend  any  longer 
with  these  men,  who  were  three  to  one,  and 
probably  all  armed.  He  was  therefore  com- 
pelled, most  reluctantly,  and  in  great  distress 
of  mind,  to  accompany  them  down  the  path 
to  the  beach,  Ben  Bludgeon  going  before 
him,  and  the  others  keeping  close  behind. 
When  at  the  bottom,  his  conductors  desired 
him  to  retire  a  few  paces,  while  they  held  a 
consultation,  apparently  not  a  very  amicable 
one,  for  Ben's  hand  was  more  than  once  laid 
upon  the  handle  of  his  knife.     Probably  their 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  43 

dispute  related  to  the  further  disposal  of  theif 
prisoner,  for,  as  they  approached  him,  James 
overheard  the  leader  say  to  his  companions, 
"  I  tell  ye,  not  if  you  can  help  it.  But  if  he 
makes  a  noise, — you  understand  me ; — 'tis  of 
no  use  to  flinch  now  !" 

So  Ben  proceeded  to  ascend  the  cliff 
again  by  the  path,  for  there  was  no  other 
Way  of  leaving  Freshwater  Cove,  as  it  was 
called ;  and  the  two  men  left  behind  led 
James  along  the  beach  for  a  few  hundred 
yards,  till  they  came  to  an  overhanging  part 
of  the  rock,  where  they  were  sheltered  from 
the  rain,  which  now  came  down  in  torrents. 
Here  they  all  sat  clown  on  a  heap  of  dry  sea- 
weed, the  prisoner  in  the  middle.  As  his 
keepers  appeared  rather  more  civilly  dis- 
posed than  the  surly  Bludgeon,  James  endea- 
voured to  make  them  converse  with  him,  not 
altogether  without  a  hope  that  he  might  be 


44  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

able  to  persuade  or  bribe  them  to  give  him 
his  liberty.  But  although  his  first  attempt 
at  conversation  was  simply  a  remark  about 
the  weather,  he  was  immediately  cut  short 
with — 

"I  tell  ye  what  it  is,  Master — We  are 
under  orders  as  well  as  yourself,  and  those 
orders  are — 'Not  a  single  word,  good  or 
bad.'  So  keep  quiet  till  morning,  and  what- 
ever happens,  you  will  come  to  no  harm." 

So  poor  James  Hawkins  was  left  to  his 
own  meditations,  and  very  gloomy  and  dis- 
tressing his  thoughts  were.  For  himself  he 
had  not  much  anxiety,  either  on  account  of 
his  personal  safety,  or  from  supposing  that 
any  blame  would  attach  to  him  for  neglecting 
his  duty.  But  James  was  a  humane,  good 
man,  and  his  feelings  may  be  imagined  when 
he  considered  what  tremendous  mischief 
would   probably  be   occasioned  by  the  light 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  45 

being  extinguished  on  such  a  night  as  this; 
and  he  remembered  of  what  great  importance 
it  was  that  it  should  be  constantly  kept  up 
when  once  established,  for  seamen,  knowing 
that  a  light  was  usually  exhibited  on  the 
Point,  and  seeing  none,  would  be  altogether 
out  of  their  reckoning,  and  would  suppose 
themselves  to  be  at  a  much  greater  distance 
from  the  land  than  they  really  were. 

But  these  dismal  forebodings  were  not 
James's  greatest  sources  of  uneasiness,  for 
when  he  thought  of  his  dear  little  girl,  left  at 
home  by  herself,  his  distress  amounted  to 
agony,  and  he  exclaimed — 

"  God  be  merciful  to  my  sweet  Clara  this 
night !  She  will  die  of  terror  before  the 
morning  I" 


46  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

And  how  did  poor  Clara  pass  that  fearful 
night  ? 

When  James  left  her  to  go  to  the  spring, 
she  proceeded  to  arrange  the  supper -table  and 
to  put  some  water  on  the  fire  to  boil,  for  her 
father's  very  moderate  glass  of  grog;  for  he 
still  retained  so  much  of  a  sailor's  habits  as  to 
like  a  comforter  before  bed-time. 

Young  as  little  Clara  was,  her  mother  had 
taught  her  many  domestic  duties ;  and  though 
she  possessed  very  few  of  what  are  called 
accomplishments,  she  could  do  some  things 
perfectly  well,  which  it  would  puzzle  many  of 
you,  my  dear  accomplished  young  ladies,  even 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  47 

to  attempt.  For  instance,  she  could  make 
an  excellent  pudding,  and  had  many  times 
gone  through  the  whole  process  without  any 
assistance,  or  even  a  word  of  advice  from  her 
mother.  Then,  what  intense  delight  she  felt 
when  her  father,  having  tasted  the  produce 
of  her  skill,  would  exclaim,  as  he  held  his 
plate  for  a  second  helping,  "  A  famous  good 
pudding,  this !  Who  made  it  ?  Not  my 
Clara,  to  be  sure  !" 

The  notable  little  girl  had  placed  every 
thing  ready  for  supper,  and  the  water  was 
just  beginning  to  sing,  when  she  thought  it 
must  be  quite  time  to  expect  her  father's 
return,  and  she  went  out  to  look  for  him. 
But  a  sudden  squall  of  wind  and  rain  soon 
drove  her  back  again,  saying  to  herself, 
"Ah  !  how  wet  he  will  be !"  and  then  she 
went  up -stairs  to  fetch  another  jacket  for  him 
to  put  on  when  he  returned,  and  got  ready 


48  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

the  little  lantern  which  he  used  when  he 
lighted  the  lamps,  for  she  knew  that  he  would 
perform  that  duty  before  he  sat  down  to 
supper.  Soon  it  began  to  grow  dusk,  and 
the  poor  child's  surprise  at  her  father's  long 
absence  was  changed  into  fearful  misgivings 
that  some  terrible  accident  had  happened  to 
prevent  his  return.  She  remembered  how 
punctual  he  always  was  in  discharging  his 
duty,  and  she  knew  that  the  sun  had  set  for 
some  time,  for  from  the  window  she  had 
watched  him  go  down,  like  a  ball  of  molten 
brass,  into  the  ocean. 

"  Oh !  if  he  has  fallen  down  over  those 
terrible  cliffs !"  exclaimed  she,  opening  the 
door  a  little,  to  see  if  the  weather  would 
allow  her  to  go  in  search  of  him,  but  a  tre- 
mendous gust  blew  it  instantly  wide  open, 
and  she  had  no  little  difficulty  in  closing  it 
again.     And  now  the  rain  poured  down  like 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  49 

a  cataract,  and  the  lightning  flashed,  while 
the  thunder  could  scarcely  be  heard,  so  ter- 
rible was  the  roar  of  the  wind.  That  poor 
little  child  might  as  well  have  attempted  to 
have  fled  to  the  moon  as  to  have  walked  fifty 
yards  against  that  night's  gale.  She  saw 
that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  venture  out, 
and  she  returned,  almost  heart-broken,  into 
the  snug  little  kitchen.  Here  the  sight  of 
her  poor  father's  jacket,  hanging  over  the 
back  of  a  chair  by  the  fire,  entirely  overcame 
her,  and  she  burst  into  tears,  exclaiming, 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead  !  He  will  never 
wear  it  again  !  I  am  sure  he  would  come 
back  to  me  before  this  if  he  was  alive."  Then 
down  she  sank  upon  a  chair,  in  an  agony  of 
terror  and  distress. 

And  now  I  am  coming  to  a  part  of  my  tale 

which,  perhaps,  some  of  my  readers  may  think 

improbable ;  but  it  must  be  remembered,  that 
5 


50  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

Clara  "was  no  common  child,  and  she  per- 
formed no  common  action  that  night.  In  the 
midst  of  her  bitter  grief  for  her  father's 
loss,  and  terror  at  her  own  situation,  she 
recollected  that  they  had  been  employed  that 
afternoon  in  reading  together  an  account 
of  a  most  melancholy  shipwreck,  in  which 
more  than  a  hundred  persons,  and  several  of 
her  own  sex  and  age,  had  perished.  She 
remembered  also  that  she  had  asked  her 
father  whether,  if  there  had  been  a  lighthouse 
on  that  part  of  the  coast,  the  shipwreck 
would  not  have  been  prevented.  He  replied 
that  most  probably  it  would,  and  added,  "If 
I  were  so  wicked  as  to  neglect  my  duty,  and 
not  light  our  lamps,  on  some  very  dark 
windy  night,  perhaps,  before  morning,  a  dis- 
aster as  terrible  as  that  we  have  just  been 
reading  about  would  happen  on  the  Fly-away 
Beef." 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  51 

All  this  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
the  mind  of  the  intelligent  little  girl  at  the 
time ;  and  now,  as  she  sat  with  her  face 
buried  between  her  knees,  and  sobbing  as  if 
her  heart  would  burst,  the  remembrance  of 
the  whole  story,  with  her  father's  observations 
upon  it,  appeared,  she  knew  not  why,  to  be 
strangely  mixed  up  with  her  present  sorrow. 
Then,  by  degrees,  a  fresh  feeling  of  distress 
came  over  her, — an  indistinct  fear  that  she 
had  some  painful  duty  to  perform ;  and  she 
began  to  say  to  herself,  "  If  I  could  but  light 
the  lamps !  Ah,  no  !  I  can  never  do  it. — 
And  to  keep  them  burning  all  night,  too  ! 
And  then  I  must  go  up  that  frightful  stair- 
case by  myself!  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  father, 
if  I  could  but  tell  what  has  become  of  you  !" 

Then  she  remained  perfectly  still  for  some 
minutes — so  quiet  that  you  would  have 
thought  she  had  been  asleep.     But  no,  she 


52  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

was  not  asleep,  for  a  terrible  conflict  was 
going  on  in  her  breast,  and  the  good  spirit 
gained  the  victory  over  her  fears  I  So  she 
arose  from  her  seat,  wiped  her  eyes,  and 
lighted  the  little  lantern,  saying  aloud,  "I 
will  try  to  light  the  lamps.  If  I  can  but  get 
to  the  top  of  the  frightful  stairs,  the  worst 
will  be  over." 

Now  I  must  confess  that  Clara,  though  a 
very  sensible  child,  was  rather  silly  in  one 
respect,  for  she  had  always  had  a  great 
dread  of  this  cold,  dark,  gusty  staircase,  with 
its  one  hundred  and  seventeen  stone  steps ; 
and  she  could  never  be  persuaded  to  ascend 
them  by  herself,  even  in  the  day-time. 
Therefore  you  may  imagine  how  terrified 
the  poor  child  was,  when  she  opened  the 
door  of  the  passage  which  connected  the 
dwelling-house  with  the  bottom  of  the  tower, 
and  found  herself  at  the  foot  of  the  dreaded 


,.,,,,."■    I       - •'iiPll'illi  "  -■  'i'|,r".-t^1  '' 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  53 

stairs.  The  tower  had  no  windows  in  it, 
but  here  and  there  a  long,  narrow  slit,  or 
loophole,  in  the  wall,  to  admit  a  little  light 
and  air,  and  through  these  openings  the 
wind  whistled,  and  roared,  and  almost  scream- 
ed in  the  ears  of  the  lonely  tenant  of 
the  tower.  Clara  has  often  said  that  she  can 
remember  very  little  of  what  happened  after 
she  had  ascended  a  few  steps,  for  her  fright 
almost  deprived  her  of  her  senses;  but  she 
thinks  that  in  her  frantic  haste  to  reach  the 
top  she  must  have  fallen  down  several  times, 
for  her  knees  and  elbows  were  sadly  cut  and 
bruised.  But  she  reached  the  lantern,  closed 
the  little  door,  and  was  happy  ! 

Yes,  she  felt  comparatively  happy,  in  having 
accomplished  that  part  of  her  task  which  she 
most  dreaded ;  though  you  would  have  thought 
that  to  have  spent  the  night  in  the  lantern 

of  a  lighthouse,  in  such  a  gale,  would  have 
5* 


54  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

been  very  terrible  indeed.  As  you  nave 
never  been  in  such  a  situation,  you  can  form 
no  idea  of  it  whatever.  Not  only  did  the 
awful  "wind  and  thunder  roar  ten  times  louder 
than  below,  but  the  rock-based  tower  itself 
yielded  to  the  blast,  and  trembled  fearfully. 
Clara  had  not  been  two  minutes  in  the  lan- 
tern before  she  repented  of  her  attempt,  and 
heartily  wished  herself  safe  in  the  house  be- 
low again.  But  the  terrible  stairs,  like  an 
impassable  gulf,  lay  between  her  and  the 
place  of  refuge,  and  as  her  courage  revived 
by  degrees,  she  remembered  the  resolution 
she  had  made  to  endeavour  to  light  the  lamps* 
These  were  all  ready-trimmed,  and  as  she 
had  often  seen  her  father  light  them,  she 
began  to  hope  that  the  difficulty  was  not  so 
very  great.  So  she  took  off  one  of  the 
glasses,  and  after  turning  round  the  top  of 
the   lamp   till  it   would  go   no   further,   she 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  55 

found  she  was  wrong,  and  moving  it  in  the 
contrary  direction,  soon,  to  her  great  joy,  the 
circular  wick  made  its  appearance.  Then, 
after  several  trials,  she  succeeded  in  lighting 
one  side  of  the  wick  with  a  piece  of  paper : 
she  replaced  the  glass,  and  went  on  to  the 
next  lamp.  She  turned  this  the  right  way  at 
once,  and  had  just  persuaded  the  obstinate 
wick  to  burn,  when,  crack !  went  the  glass  of 
the  first  lamp,  some  of  the  fragments  falling 
on  the  floor ;  and  Clara  beheld  the  long,  red 
flame  towering  up,  and  terminated  by  a 
column  of  black  smoke.  She  had  raised  the 
wick  a  great  deal  too  high ;  and  now,  in  her 
haste  to  remedy  the  error,  she  turned  it  down 
so  low  that  the  flame  was  quite  extinguished. 

"  Oh  !  I  never  shall  manage  it,"  said  she, 
removing  the  remaining  part  of  the  broken 
glass ;  but  here,  alas  !  was  a  fresh  misfortune, 
for  it  was  very   hot  and   burnt   her   fingers 


56  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

so  that  she  could  not  help  crying  out  with 
pain.  The  poor  little  girl's  spirit  was  al- 
most broken,  and  another  mishap  would 
probably  have  made  her  abandon  the  at- 
tempt in  despair,  when,  looking  at  the  se- 
cond lamp,  she  saw  that  the  wick  had  lighted 
all  round,  and  was  burning  with  a  beautiful, 
clear,  white  flame.  Forgetting  her  smarting 
fingers,  Clara  immediately  placed  a  glass  over 
it,  and  soon  found  that,  by  turning  the  top 
round  carefully  and  slowly,  she  had  full  com  - 
mand  of  the  flame,  and  could  diminish  or  in- 
crease it  at  pleasure.  So  she  raised  it  gra- 
dually till  it  gave  a  brilliant  light,  but  without 
any  smoke;  and  now  the  quick-witted  child 
fully  understood  her  business.  In  a  short 
time  all  the  lamps  were  burning  beautifully, 
while  Clara  for  a  while  almost  forgot  her 
grief  and  terror  in  her  admiration  of  the  bril- 
liant suns  she  had  created. 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  57 

Never  had  the  Fly-away  lighthouse  sent  a 
brighter  gleam  across  the  waters  than  it  did 
on  that  night !  The  watchful  mariner  hailed 
the  appearance  of  that  warning  star  from  a 
distance,  and  was  sure,  by  its  position,  that 
he  was  safe  from  the  dangers  of  the  fatal 
reef.  But  could  he  have  known  that  its 
splendour  was  maintained  by  the  hand  of 
a  weak  and  trembling  child,  he  would  surely 
have  bowed  in  gratitude  to  that  Being  who 
is  so  often  pleased  to  confer  his  greatest 
benefits  upon  mankind  by  means  which  would 
appear  to  us  altogether  inadequate  for  the 
purpose. 

What  was  to  be  done  next?  Clara  knew 
that  the  lamps  would  not  burn  brightly  for 
more  than  four  or  five  hours  without  trim- 
ming and  a  fresh  supply  of  oil ;  but  here  no 
difficulty  would  occur,  for  another  set  of 
eight  lamps  stood  ready  to  take  the  places 


58  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

of  the  first.  But  here  lay  the  great  and 
Sore  difficulty — to  prevent  herself  from  fall- 
ing asleep,  and  neglecting  her  trust !  For 
the  first  hour  or  two  of  her  lonely  watch 
she  was  wakeful  enough,  for  the  novelty  of 
her  situation  and  the  uproar  around  her 
prevented  her  from  feeling  drowsy,  to  say 
nothing  of  her  own  sad  thoughts.  But  sleep, 
though  long  chased  away  by  sorrow,  will  at 
length  weigh  down  the  eyelids  of  the  most 
wretched,  even  of  the  condemned  criminal 
in  his  cell;  and  now  Clara  began  to  feel 
its  oppressive  influence  stealing  over  her, 
and  by  far  the  most  difficult  part  of  her 
task  remained  to  be  performed.  But  she 
resisted  nobly,  and  repelled  the  unwelcome 
visitor  with  a  determination  which  can  be 
sufficiently  admired  only  by  those  who  have 
seen  how  overpowering  are  the  attacks  of 
Bleep  upon  very  young  eyelids.     Clara  knew 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  59 

that  if  slie  could  by  any  means  keep  herself 
awake  till  it  was  time  to  change  the  lamps, 
she  might  then  sleep  in  peace,  for  in  a  few 
hours  after  it  would  be  daylight. 
•  And  she  did  keep  awake  till  nearly  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  was  afterwards 
ascertained  by  the  quantity  of  oil  consumed ; 
and  then,  finding  that  the  lamps  would  no 
longer  burn  brightly,  she  was  sure  that  it  was 
past  midnight.  So  she  lighted  up  the  fresh 
set  without  the  smallest  accident  or  difficulty ; 
she  watched  them  for  a  few  minutes,  to  be 
quite  sure  that  all  was  right,  and  then,  the 
sweet  child  having  faithfully  discharged  the 
duty  which  had  so  strangely  fallen  to  her  lot, 
sank  down  upon  the  cold  stone  floor,  and  was 
in  thfc  I md  of  dreams  in  an  instant. 


60  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

We  left  James  Hawkins  seated  on  the  heap 
of  sea-weed  between  his  two  keepers,  who 
kept  watch  alternately.  But  James  never 
once  closed  his  eyes,  for  he  had  not  suf- 
ficient confidence  in  his  companions  to  be 
sure  that  it  would  be  quite  safe  for  him  to 
do  so.  Heavily  and  slowly  passed  the  time, 
till  about  an  hour  before  dawn,  and  then 
was  heard  at  a  distance  the  sound  of  some 
one  walking  over  the  loose  pebbles. 

Here  I  must  tell  you  that  the  lighthouse 
could  not  be  seen  from  any  pait  of  Fresh- 
water Cove ;  and  though  the  top  of  the  tower 
was  visible  to  the  inhabitants  of  Crabton, 
the   dark  side   of  the   lantern   was  towards 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  61 

them,  and  in  order  to  see  the  light,  it  was 
necessary  to  sail  out  into  the  bay  for  three 
or  four  miles,  or  to  walk  about  the  same  dis- 
tance from  the  village  to  Fly-away  Point. 

When  the  stranger  had  approached  within 
speaking  distance  of  our  party,  he  was  hailed 
by  the  watchman  with  a  gruff,  "Who's 
there?" 

"Tom  Grummage,"  was  the  reply;  "and 
I've  got  news  for  ye ;  so  leave  your  man,  one 
of  you,  and  come  here." 

Hawkins  could  hear  nothing  of  the  con- 
versation that  ensued,  but  he  feared,  from 
the  earnestness  of  their  manner,  that  the 
scheme  of  the  Crabton  wreckers  had  suc- 
ceeded, and  that  a  ship  had  been  discovered 
stranded  on  the  reef.  He  was  mistaken,  how- 
ever, for  in  a  few  minutes  the  two  men  came 
up  to  him,  and  he  that  had  guarded  him 
during  the  night  said, 


62  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

"Now,  Mr.  Hawkins,  you  may  go  home 
as  soon  as  you  like ;  and  as  you've  behaved 
quietly,  I'll  tell  ye  for  your  comfort  that  your 
light  is  burning  as  brightly  as  ever  it  did,  and 
has  been  burning  all  night,  for  what  I  know 
to  the  contrary.  But  I  say,  Hawkins,  when 
this  comes  to  be  talked  of,  and  we  get 
into  trouble  for  to-night's  work,  say  a  good 
word,  will  you,  for  Jack  Bracey;  for  I  can 
tell  ye  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  me,  Ben 
would  have  pitched  you  over  the  cliff,  as  he 
did  your  water-cask.  He's  a  rough  fellow, 
that  Ben  Bludgeon. — There,  now,  I  have  let 
out  his  name !  But  you  knew  him  well 
enough  before,  in  spite  of  his  wig ;  and  though 
you  cheated  him  with  your  'Mr.  BartonJ  you 
didn't  take  me  in." 

Of  course,  Hawkins  coulcl  promise  nothing, 
but  he  thanked  Bracey  for  his  interference ; 
and  being  now  at  liberty,  need  I  tell  you  that 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  b6 

he  ascended  the  cliff,  and  ran  to  his  home  in 
half  the  time  that  he  had  ever  taken  to  tra- 
verse the  same  distance  before  ? 

Panting  and  breathless  he  stood  before 
his  own  door.  It  was  on  the  latch.  He 
entered  the  kitchen  and  struck  a  light.  The 
object  of  his  eager  search  was  not  there. 
Then  he  examined  every  room  of  the  house, 
calling  with  faltering  voice  for  his  child,  but 
his  ears  were  gladdened  by  no  reply — his 
home  was  silent  and  desolate.  "  God  of 
heaven,"  he  cried,  "she  has  ventured  out  in 
search  of  me,  and  has  perished  miserably  in 
the  storm  !"  Suddenly  a  new  thought  struck 
him,  and  a  faint  gleam  of  hope  shone  upon 
the  father's  heart.  "  Ha  !  the  light  has  been 
burning  all  night !  Can  it  be  possible  ?" 
In  an  agony  of  suspense  he  ascended  the 
lighthouse  stairs — he  gained  the  lantern,  and 
there,    stretched    upon    the    floor    in    child- 


64  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

hood's  death-like  sleep,  was  his  lost  one,  his 
own  beautiful  Clara.  She  was  soon  aroused 
by  the  sound  of  her  father's  well-known 
voice,  and  as  James  pressed  her  to  his  heart, 
this  strong  man  was  overcome,  and  he  min- 
gled his  tears  with  hers.  After  a  few  brief 
questions,  James  carried  his  little  girl  down 
into  her  own  room,  and  left  her  to  enjoy  a 
sound  repose.  Then  he  lay  down  upon  his 
own  bed,  but  sleep  visited  not  his  eyes,  for 
his  thoughts  were  with  his  dear  little  child : 
and  as  he  pondered  over  the  events  of  the 
night,  he  exclaimed,  "  I  never  knew  what  hap- 
piness was  till  now !  May  God  give  me  a 
thankful  heart !" 

About  ten  in  the  morning,  the  weather  hav- 
ing cleared  up,  Mrs.  Hawkins,  with  old  Tom 
Haddock  and  Betty,  made  their  appearance. 
Very  much  astonished  they  were  when  the 
events   of  the  past    night   were    related    to 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  65 

theni,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  the  fisher- 
man was  delighted  to  find  that  his  old  watch 
had  not  deceived  him.  Then  little  Clara, 
who  appeared  in  very  good  spirits  after  her 
fright  and  want  of  sleep,  gave  the  particu- 
lars of  her  share  of  the  night's  adventures. 
Nothing  can  be  more  affecting  than  a  tale 
of  sorrow  related  in  the  simple  but  eloquent 
language  of  childhood ;  and  as  the  little  girl 
described  her  grief  for  her  father's  supposed 
loss,  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Betty  could  not 
restrain  their  tears.  James  sat  in  silence 
with  his  dear  Clara  on  his  knee,  "but  the 
water  stood  in  his  eyes !" 

Now  this  most  expressive  manifestation  of 
intense  happiness  was  a  phenomenon  which 
old  Tom  could  not  at  all  comprehend,  and  he 
muttered  to  himself — 

"  What   both   of   'em   a   crying  ?     And,   I 

declare,    James    seems   half  a   mind   to  join 
6* 


66  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

in  with  the  women  too,  because  he's  alive 
and  able  to  eat  his  breakfast  this  morning, 
instead  of  being  pitched  over  the  cliff  and 
made  into  victuals  for  the  crabs  and  dog- 
fish. Well,  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  that, 
neither;  though,  "when  I  look  at  that  pretty 
little  maid,  and  think  of  what  she  has  gone 
through  this  night,  <  I  do  feel  uncommonly 
queer,  to  be  sure,'  as  the  hermit-crab  ob- 
served when  he  fitted  himself  into  a  fresh 
shell." 

But  let  us  leave  this  funny  old  man,  and 
get  on  to  the  end  of  our  tale  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Mr.  Hawkins  lost  no  time  in  ac- 
quainting his  masters,  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Trinity-House,  with  the  particulars  of  this 
affair,  and  prompt,  measures  were  taken  to 
secure  the  Crabton  conspirators;  but  those 
most  deeply  concerned  in  the  plct  had  put 
to  sea  in  their  boat,   and  it  was  feared  had 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  67 

escaped  to  the  coast  of  France.  However, 
they  were  captured  at  last,  at  a  small  English 
seaport,  more  than  fifty  miles  from  Crabton. 

It  came  out  on  their  trial,  that  the  original 
design  of  the  wreckers  was  to  have  marched 
in  a  body  to  the  lighthouse,  to  have  utterly 
demolished  the  lantern,  and  to  have  mur- 
dered the  inmates  of  the  house  if  they  had 
made  the  least  resistance.  This  was  the 
amiable  Bludgeon's  favourite  plan ;  but  his 
companions,  either  more  humane  than  him- 
self, or  more  fearful  of  the  consequences,  had 
compelled  him  to  abandon  it.  The  gang 
knew  that  the  little  girl  was  left  in  the  light- 
house, but  they  did  not  believe  it  possible 
that  such  a  child  would  be  able  to  frustrate 
their  evil  designs,  neither  were  they  aware 
that  their  scheme  for  extinguishing;  the  light 

o  o  o 

had  failed  till  the  night  was  almost  past. 
So  Ben  received  his  deserts  in  a  sentence 


68  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

of  transportation  for  life,  for^it  was  proved 
that  he  was  the  leader  of  the  gang ;  but 
Hawkins  said  all  he  could  in  favour  of  Bracey 
and  his  companion,  believing  that  he  owed 
his  life  to  their  interference,  and  in  con- 
sequence they  were  let  off  with  two  years' 
imprisonment. 

And  so  much  for  punishments — now  for 
rewards.  It  was  ascertained  that,  on  the 
night  when  Clara  kept  her  lonely  watch  in 
the  lantern,  several  very  richly-laden  ships, 
with  many  passengers  on  board,  had  passed 
Fly-away  Point,  and  the  captains  and  pilots 
had  no  doubt  that  they  should  have  been 
lost  on  the  reef,  if  the  light  had  been  extin- 
guished. 

The  owners  of  these  ships  and  the  passen- 
gers were  therefore  determined  that  the 
young  light-keeper,  who  had  been  the  means 
of  saving  so  many   lives   and  so  much  pro- 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  69 

perty,  should  be  "well  rewarded  for  her  good 
conduct;  so  they  began  a  subscription,  to 
which  many  of  the  wealthy  merchants  in 
London  contributed,  and  the  Trinity  Gen- 
tlemen liberally  engaged  to  double  the  sum, 
whatever  it  might  amount  to.  This  promise 
induced  many  to  increase  their  donations, 
and  one  old,  cross  East  Indian  merchant, 
who  at  first  had  refused  to  subscribe  any 
thing,  when  he  heard  of  this  engagement, 
immediately  put  his  name  down  for  fifty 
pounds,  for  he  had  a  long-standing  feud 
with  the  Trinity  Board,  and,  said  he,  as  he 
wrote  his  name  in  the  list,  "  I  care  nothing 
for  this  silly  chit  of  a  girl,  but  I  hate  those 
lighthouse  people,  and  I'll  make  them  pay  an- 
il ther  fifty  pounds." 

But  Clara's  other  friends  gave  from  better 
motives;  and  though  the  " lighthouse  peo- 
ple" had  to  pay  a  great  deal  more  than  they 


70  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

had  expected,  they  did  not  begrudge  their 
money,  and  our  young  friend  was  now  a 
wealthy  little  lady,  with  a  fortune  of  more 
than  a  thousand  pounds. 

As  this  money  was  placed  in  her  father's 
hands  for  her  benefit,  James  determined  to 
give  up  his  situation  as  light-keeper.  He 
therefore  took  a  farm  in  an  adjoining  county; 
and  though  at  first,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  he  made  some  sad  blunders  in 
his  new  employment,  he  soon  succeeded  in 
getting  out  of  his  difficulties,  by  industry 
and  attention,  and  an  occasional  word  of 
advice  from  his  neighbours.  In  a  few  years 
he  was  a  thriving  man,  and  was  able  to  afford 
the  means  of  giving  his  daughter  Clara,  to 
whom  he  owed  his  good  fortune,  a  much  better 
education  than  farmers  generally  consider  ne- 
cessary for  their  children. 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  71 


CHAPTER  VI. 

In  order  to  explain  the  introductory  conver- 
sation at  the  beginning  of  this  tale,  I  must 
now  entreat  my  readers  to  pardon  me  for 
bringing  part  of  my  own  history  before  their 
notice.     But  I  -will  be  as  brief  as  possible. 

About  eight  years  after  Mr.  Hawkins  be- 
came a  farmer,  my  parents  being  both  dead, 
I  went  to  reside  with  my  uncle,  who  had 
been  appointed  my  guardian.  From  him  I 
first  heard  the  story  of  the  Fly-away  light- 
house, and  learned  that  James  Hawkins  was 
a  tenant  on  his  estate.  My  good  uncle, 
finding  that  I  was  much  interested  in  the 
account,  took  me  with  him  the  first  oppor- 


72  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

trinity  to  call  at  the  farm,  giving  me  this  cau- 
tion as  we  dismounted  from  our  horses : — 

"  Now,  Fred,  take  care  of  your  heart !  for 
the  young  light-keeper  is  a  marvel  of  beauty, 
I  can  tell  you.  Even  my  old  eyes  can  see 
that." 

I  was  ever  the  most  perverse,  disobedient 
creature  in  the  world !  Even  when  I  really 
meant  to  be  particularly  good  and  tractable, 
something  or  other  was  sure  to  happen  to 
raise  the  spirit  of  opposition  within  me.  So 
it  was  *  in  this  instance.  I  loved  my  uncle 
sincerely ;  he  was  my  benefactor,  my  second 
father;  and  when  I  took  up  my  abode  under 
his  roof,  I  wished,  and  fully  intended,  to  obey 
him  in  every  thing.  How  did  I  abide  by  this 
resolution  ?  He  had  desired  me  not  to  be  cap- 
tivated with  the  beauty  of  "  the  young  light- 
keeper,"  as  he  always  called  her,  and  I  had 
not  been  half-an-hour  in  her  company  before  I 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  73 

said  to  myself,  "  Either  Clara  or  nobody  1  I 
will  marry  her,  if  she  will  have  me,  in  spite  of 
all  the  uncles  in  existence ;  and  if  she  won't 
have  me,  I  will  join  the  army,  and  fly  to  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  from  her  pre- 
sence. Welcome  danger  and  death,  if  sweet 
'  Clara  may  not  be  mine." 

I  had  a  sad  ride  home !  My  uncle 
teased  me  with  questions  about  my  college 
doings,  and  received  very  silly  answers,  no 
doubt.  The  only  question  of  his  which  I 
fully  comprehended  was,  whether  I  did  not 
think  Miss  Hawkins  pretty.  I  answered  as 
coolly  as  I  could,  and  was  glad  to  take 
refuge  by  starting  another  topic,  rather  than 
endure  my  uncle's  cross-examination  on  this 
subject. 

I  walked  over  to  the  farm  by  myself  the 

next   day,  with  my  fishing-rod  in  my  hand, 

and  requested  Mr.  Hawkins,  who  was  a  most 
7 


74  THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

accomplished  fly-fisher,  to  show  me  the  best 
pools  in  the  stream  which  ran  close  by  his 
house.  He  said  that  it  would  be  quite  use- 
less to  attempt  to  fish  that  morning,  for  the 
wind  was  decidedly  east,  and  very  cold.  I 
knew  all  this  before  I  set  out,  and  I  quite 
agreed  with  him  that  it  would  be  better  to 
defer  our  fishing  excursion.  So  I  sat  two 
hours  talking  with  Clara  and  Mrs.  Hawkins, 
and  returned  home  more  than  ever  determined 
to  be  disobedient. 

My  uncle  was  much  engaged,  settling  some 
business  with  his  lawyer,  for  a  week  or  two 
after  this,  and  I  made  almost  daily  calls 
at  the  farm,  sometimes  with  a  tolerable  ex- 
cuse for  my  intrusion,  sometimes  with  a  very 
lame  one,  at  last  with  none  whatever,  except 
that  I  had  not  seen  Clara  for  four-and-twenty 
hours. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hawkins  always  received  me 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  75 

with  perfect  civility,  though  I  fancied,  from 
their  manner,  that  my  frequent  visits  were 
not  quite  acceptable  to  them.  But  the  grave 
looks  of  the  parents  could  not  scare  me  away, 
when  their  sweet  daughter  smiled  like  a 
morning  in  spring.  So  we  went  on  thus  for 
two  or  three  months  longer,  and  my  fate  was 
decided.  I  did  not  join  the  army,  but  I  won 
the  heart  of  "the  young  light-keeper;"  though 
the  consent  of  her  parents  was  not  to  be  ob- 
tained, except  upon  the  hard  condition  that 
my  uncle  should  approve  of  my  choice.  My 
uncle  approve  of  it,  indeed !  How  could  he 
be  expected  to  approve  of  a  match  between  his 
heir,  the  last  hope  of  his  ancient  family,  and 
the  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  been  a  com- 
mon sailor,  and  who  could  not  even  tell 
you  the  name  of  his  great-grandfather.  But 
I  did  not  know  my  uncle  when  I  reasoned 
thus.     Though  eccentric  in   his   habits,    and 


76  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

somewhat  rough  and  hasty  in  his  manners,  he 
had  a  kind  and  feeling  heart. 

One  morning,  after  a  very  silent  breakfast, 
I  observed  with  some  alarm  that  the  old 
gentleman  followed  the  servant  to  the  door, 
and  said  to  him,  in  a  low  tone,  "  If  anybody 
wants  me,  say  I  am  engaged,  and  not  to  be 
disturbed  on  any  account  till  I  ring."  He 
then  resumed  his  seat,  and  addressed  me. 

"Fred,  my  dear  boy,"  said  he,  "I  am 
sorry  to  observe  that  you  have  seemed  out 
of  spirits  lately.  When  you  first  came  to 
me,  you  were  just  the  sort  of  companion  I  like 
— all  rattle  and  fun ;  but  now — come,  make  a 
friend  of  your  old  uncle,  and  tell  him  all  about 
it.      WJiat's  the  matter  with  you,  Fred  ?" 

"I  am  sure,  sir,  you  are  very  kind,  but  there 
is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  that  I  know 
of.  I  beg  pardon  if  I  have  seemed  out  of 
spirits,  but  I  am  perfectly  well,  I  assure  you." 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  77 

"  Oh,  very  good  !  I  am  not  your  physician, 
young  gentleman.  Then  perhaps  you  will 
allow  me  to  ask  you  what  you  mean  to  do  with 
yourself  till  dinner-time  ?" 

"  I  meant  to  try  for  a  trout,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  sir — I  mean,  if  you  do  not  want  me 
this  morning." 

"  Indeed !  and  what  stream  do  you  mean  to 
exercise  your  skill  upon?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  try  the  Red-Brook  to-day. 
The  fish  are  finer  there,  and  the  banks  are 
less  encumbered  with  brushwood,  and  the 
water " 


"Now,  my  dear    Fred,    I  have   fished  in 

every  river  within  a  dozen  miles  of  us,   for 

more  than  half  a  century;  so  you  need  not 

tell  me  what  sort  of  a  stream  the  Red-Brook 

is.     If  I  pleased,  I  could  trace  the  course  of 

twenty  rivers  for  miles,  could  tell  you  every 

field  they  pass  through,  and  every  house  that 
7* 


78  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

stands  on  their  banks.  For  instance,  I  know 
that  the  Red-Brook  runs  very  near  the  house 
of  my  tenant,  honest  James  Hawkins,  though 
perhaps  you  might  have  forgotten  that  fact, 
when  you  enumerated  its  other  merits." 

Never  was  a  poor  detected  lover  in  a 
worse  predicament !  I  tried  to  look  uncon- 
cerned, but  failed  entirely;  and  I  blundered, 
and  stammered  sadly,  while  I  answered  my 
cruel  questioner,  by  saying  that  I  believed 
the  Red-Brook  did  pass  pretty  near  the  Haw- 
kins's house. 

"So!"  said  my  uncle,  "you  are  beginning 
to  learn  a  little  of  the  geography  of  the 
country,  I  see  !  But  now  I  will  leave  jesting, 
and  will  thank  you  for  your  serious  attention 
for  a  few  minutes.  To  come  to  the  point  at 
once  then — Fred,  I  Jcnoio  the  whole  affair  I 
I  know  that,  like  a  foolish  fellow,  you  have 
engaged  to  marry  Miss  Hawkins — I  know  all 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  79 

tliis ;  and  a  great  deal  more,  though  you  have 
not  thought  proper  to  make  a  friend  of 
your  old  uncle.  Yesterday  morning,  James 
Hawkins  came  up  here,  saying  that  he  wished 
to  quit  his  farm,  and,  like  an  honest,  open- 
hearted  fellow,  he  gave  me  his  reasons  for 
this  step.  He  said  that  as  he  knew  I  should 
never  give  my  consent  that  a  nephew  of  mine 
should  marry  his  daughter,  he  thought  it 
better  to  remove  her  to  a  distance,  hoping 
that  she  might  then  forget  her  silly  lover. 
He  did  not  call  you  silly,  though:  that's  an 
improvement  of  mine. 

"  Now,  Fred,  I  don't  approve  of  this  match 
at  all.  I  never  have  approved  of  unequal 
matches ;  and  let  me  tell  you  that  the  young 
light-keeper,  pshaw !  that  Miss  Hawkins,  with 
all  her  beauty  and  excellent  qualities,  is  not 
a  suitable  match  for  you.  I  am  not  thinking 
about  her  want  of  fortune.     You  will   have 


80  THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

enough  of  your  own,  and  I  despise  a  man 
who  would  take  a  trip  to  the  altar  to  pick 
up  a  bag  of  gold.  My  poor  father  used 
to  give  me  this  advice,  and  if  you  can 
put  it  into  fewer  or  better  words,  you  are 
a  clever  fellow;  '  Tom,'  said  my  father, 
'when  you  marry,  seek  for  a  fortune  in 
a  wife,  and  not  with  a  wife;'  meaning  thereby 
that  she  should  be  a  treasure  herself  from  her 
good  qualities. 

"Well,  Fred,"  continued  my  uncle,  "I 
have  given  you  a  long  lecture,  but  I  have  not 
quite  finished  yet.  I  have  said  that  I  do  not 
approve  of  unequal  matches,  but  I  like  them 
better  than  broken  hearts  I  So,  if  you  assure 
me,  which  of  course  you  will,  that  you  and 
your  pretty  little  Clara  are  both  determined 
to  break  yours  all  to  pieces,  if  you  are  not 
allowed  to  marry,  why  I  suppose  I  must  give 
my  consent,  that's  all.     There,  give  me  your 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  81 

hand,  my  dear  boy,  and  now  go  and  see  how 
the  trout  will  rise  in  the  Eed-Brook  this 
morning." 

My  heart  was  too  full  to  reply  to  my  kind, 
generous  uncle.  I  pressed  his  hand  in  silence, 
and  was  leaving  the  room,  when  he  called  me 
back. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  forgotten  one  thing ;  don't 
catch  all  the  trout  in  the  Eed-Brook  this 
morning,  Fred,  for  I  mean  to  wet  a  line  there 
myself  some  fine  day,  if  my  rheumatism  will 
let  me — and,  stop  a  minute,  what  a  hurry  the 
silly  fellow  is  in !  You  may  take  back  to 
Mr.  Hawkins  his  notice  to  quit  the  farm. 
He  won't  think  it  necessary  to  leave  the 
neighbourhood  now,  I  suppose :  we  must  find 
him  a  larger  farm,  though,  and  a  better  house, 
if  he  is  to  be  my  nephew's  father-in-law." 


82  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

I  closed  my  book,  and  my  dear  little 
Clara,  who,  like  a  good  child,  had  not  once 
interrupted  me  while  I  was  reading,  now 
opened  wide  the  floodgate  of  her  impatience, 
and  broke  forth  into  a  torrent  of  exclamations 
and  questions.  When  these  had  been  ans- 
wered, she  said : 

"Yes,  papa,  I  think  I  understand  it  all 
now.  But  is  mamma  really  a  common  sailor's 
daughter?" 

"Your  mamma,  my  dear  Clara,  is  the 
daughter  of  James  Hawkins,  who,  though 
now  the  possessor  of  wealth  and  land  of  his 
own,  was  formerly  what  you  call  '  a  common 
sailor ;'  do  you  love  her  the  less  on  that 
account  ?" 

"Oh  no !  nothing  can  possibly  make  me 
love  dear  mamma  less.  Ah!  now  I  under- 
stand why  you  had  a  lighthouse  engraved  on 
your  seal.     I  am  sure  I  shall  value  the  impres- 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  83 

sion  of  that  seal  more  than  all  the  rest  in  my 
collection." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  forget  the  history 
connected  with  it,  my  dear  child;  and  when 
you  look  at  the  seal,  reason  thus  with  your- 
self : — My  mamma  was  but  a  very  little  girl, 
and  yet  by  her  good  conduct  she  saved  the 
lives  of  many  persons,  and  prevented  the 
destruction  of  much  valuable  property.  For 
this  action  she  was  rewarded,  and  was  at 
length  raised  to  a  situation  in  which  she  has 
had  the  means  of  being  much  more  useful  to 
her  fellow-creatures  than  she  could  possibly 
have  been,  had  she  remained  all  her  days  an 
inhabitant  of  a  lighthouse. 

"  Can  I,  her  daughter,  imitate  her  in  any 
way  r ' 

"  Ah,  no  !  I  never  in  all  my  life  shall  have 
an  opportunity  of  doing  so  much  good  as 
she  has   done ;    and   even  if  I  had  the  op- 


84:  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

portunity,  I  have  not  her  courage  and  deter- 
mination," 

"  Perhaps  not.  Still  I  think  that  every  lit- 
tle child  may  be  of  some  use  in  the  world,  for 
we  know  that  God  has  created  nothing  in 
vain,  not  even  the  smallest  insect  or  plant 
which  we  trample  under  our  feet,  as  if  they 
were  altogether  worthless  and  insignificant." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  certainly  better  than  a 
plant  or  an  insect,  for  God  has  given  me  un- 
derstanding, to  teach  me  to  distinguish  be- 
tween right  and  wrong,  and  to  enable  me  to 
do  good  to  others. 

"  But  how  can  I,  a  little,  helpless  child,  who 
require  assistance  myself,  almost  every  hour 
in  the  day,  how  can  I  be  of  the  smallest  use  to 
others.  Ah  !  I  will  not  puzzle  about  it  any 
longer,  but  will  go  directly  to  my  dear  mamma, 
and  beg  her  to  teach  me  how  to  imitate  i  The 
young  light-keeper  of  Fly-away  Point.' ''' 


THE  INCENDIAEY. 


THE  INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


"How  many  hands  will  you  have  in  the 
hayfield  to-day  ?"  said  I,  one  morning  at  break- 
fast, to  my  host,  farmer  Trimmer,  under  whose 
roof  I  had  been  lodging  for  more  than  a 
twelvemonth. 

"How   many,    sir!"    replied    the   farmer, 

"why  as  many   as  we  can  possibly  muster, 

you  may  be  sure ;  for  1  never  in  all  my  life 

had  so  much  hay  down  together  as  I  have 

just  now.     If  we  had  but  more  hands,  three 

days  of  this  hot  sun  and  lovely  breeze  would 

make  it  all  safe  for  us.     But  the  quicksilver 

is  settling  down  this  morning,  I  see,  so  we 

87 


88  THE  INCENDIARY. 

can't  expect  this  fine  weather  to  last  many 
days  longer.  Well,  we  must  work  hard  while 
we  have  it,  and  hope  for  the  best.  Let  me 
see,  there  will  be  seven  of  our  own  people, 
and  those  six  new  men  I  hired  yesterday,  and 
if  you  reckon  nephew  Walter,  here,  and  my- 
self to  make  one  more  between  us,  there  will 
be  fourteen  altogether." 

Now  the  farmer  spoke  very  modestly  of  his 
own  powers  when  he  said  this:  for  though 
"Nephew  Walter"  was  a  slight-made  lad  of 
about  thirteen,  James  Trimmer  himself  was  a 
man  of  such  unusual  proportions  and  strength, 
that  he  could  easily  do  as  much  work  as  any 
two  of  his  labourers. 

"Fourteen,  we  shall  be  altogether,  and  I 
wish  we  were  forty"  continued  the  farmer; 
"  but  perhaps  my  good  woman  and  the  maids 
will  come  out  and  handle  the  forks  by-and-by." 

"Not  we,  indeed!"  replied  Mrs.  Trimmer, 


THE   INCENDIARY.  89 

"  till  we  have  finished  our  own  work,  at  any 
rate.  How  are  the  victuals  for  fourteen  hun- 
gry people  to  be  got  ready,  if  we  go  a  hay- 
making, I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Then  I  shall  be  the  only  idle  person  on 
the  premises,"  said  I  to  myself;  "  perhaps  the 
only  thoroughly  idle,  useless  being  within  ten 
miles  of  us.  To  be  sure  I  am  not  very  strong, 
nor  used  to  hard  work;  but  at  haymaking- 
time  anybody  can  be  useful,  and  I  could  do 
as  much  as  little  Walter  there,  at  any  rate. 
Come.  I  will  try  to  spend  one  day  of  my  life 
usefully  and  industriously." 

"  So,  telling  Mr.  Trimmer  that  he  had  made 

a  mistake  in  his  reckoning,  and  that  he  would 

have  one  more  haymaker  in  his  employ  than 

he  expected,  I  accompanied  him  into  the  field, 

where,  under  the  tuition  of  my  friend  Walter, 

I  soon  learned  to  perform  my  part  very  much 

to  my  own  satisfaction. 
8* 


90  THE   INCENDIARY. 

Here  I  must  introduce  my  young  friend 
more  particularly  than  by  merely  saying  that 
he  was  James  Trimmer's  nephew.  His  father, 
a  poor  hard-working  curate,  preaching  two 
or  three  sermons  a  week,  and  with  difficulty 
maintaining  his  family  upon  an  income  which 
did  not  amount  to  the  yearly  earnings  of 
a  skilful  journeyman  tailor  or  shoemaker, 
had  died  when  little  "Walter  was  about  two 
years  old.  His  wife  soon  followed  her  hus- 
band, and  as  she  had  offended  her  own  family 
by  her  imprudent  choice,  poor  Walter  was 
left  without  a  friend  or  protector  in  the  wide 
world,  except  his  uncle  and  aunt  Trimmer. 
Now  this  early  bereavement,  unfortunate 
in  most  instances,  had  proved  a  blessing 
to  the  little  boy;  for  which  is  the  most 
enviable  .condition,  that  of  a  very  poor 
curate's  son,  or  that  of  a  thriving  farmer's 
nephew  and  adopted  child  ?     It  is  true  that  as 


THE   INCENDIARY.  91 

the  former  lie  would  have  had  more  right  to 
the  title  of  gentleman;  but  give  me  well-fed 
and  warm-clad  respectability,  rather  than 
starving  and  half-ragged  gentility.  And  I 
mean  to  show  that  Walter,  though  his  work- 
ing-clothes were  of  coarse  texture,  and  his 
shoes  were  often  adorned  by  half  a  pound 
weight  of  hob-nails,  had  nevertheless  prin- 
ciples and  feelings  that  would  have  done  hon- 
our to  any  station  in  life.  Neither  was  he  so 
deficient  in  learning  as  boys  of  his  class 
usually  are ;  for  his  uncle,  who  had  received 
some  education  himself,  was  too  sensible  of 
the  advantages  he  had  derived  from  it,  to 
neglect  his  nephew  in  this  respect.  So  the 
long  winter  evenings  were  spent  by  Walter 
very  pleasantly  and  profitably,  in  reading 
and  writing,  and  in  learning  the  first  rules  of 
arithmetic. 

But   after   a  few   years'   instruction   there 


92  THE   INCENDIARY. 

followed  a  consequence  which  the  farmer  had 
himself  foreseen,  and  had  predicted  to  his 
wife  very  soon  after  he  had  taken  upon  him- 
self the  office  of  tutor  to  his  nephew.  The 
intelligent  child  had  imbibed  all  the  learning 
the  teacher  had  it  in  his  power  to  impart, 
and  longed  for  more. 

At  this  crisis,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trimmer 
were  debating  whether  they  could  make  up 
their  minds  to  part  with  their  nephew,  and 
send  him  for  a  year  or  two  to  a  school  in  the 
neighbouring  town,  I  first  became  an  inmate 
of  their  comfortable  abode.  Compelled  by 
ill  health  to  give  up  my  profession,  and  to 
take  refuge  in  the  genial  climate  of  our 
southern  coast,  I  had  spent  several  weeks 
in  rambling  about,  seeking  for  a  quiet  resting- 
place,  and  finding  none  exactly  suited  to  my 
wishes.  One  place  was  too  public,  another 
too  lonely  and   out  of  the  world,   even   for 


THE  INCENDIARY.  93 

such  a  lover  of  retirement  as  myself;  and 
many  situations,  though  agreeable  in  other  re- 
spects, were  far  too  expensive  for  my  very 
slender  income. 

One  afternoon,  during  my  uncertain  wan- 
derings, as  I  was  sitting  on  a  stile,  contem- 
plating a  glorious  ocean-view,  and  inhaling 
with  delight  the  perfumed  sea-breeze  that 
blew  softly  over  the  land,  I  was  startled  from 
my  musings  by  a  voice  behind  me,  very 
civilly  requesting  permission  to  pass  by. 
I  stepped  aside  to  comply,  and  then  my 
acquaintance  with  little  Walter  Trimmer  com- 
menced. 

There  was  something  wonderfully  engag- 
ing in  the  boy's  manner  and  appearance. 
Though  not  absolutely  handsome,  the  expres- 
sion of  his  face  combined  so  much  intel- 
ligence with  the  greatest  simplicity  and  in- 
nocence, that  the  absence  of  perfect  beauty 


94  THE   INCENDIARY. 

and  regularity  of  feature  was  forgotten.  His 
was  a  face  on  which  the  finger  of  the  Creator 
had  written  in  characters  not  to  be  misunder- 
stood, "  Trust  me,  try  me ;  I  cannot  deceive 

you." 

As  in  our  pilgrimage  through  this  world 
of  deceit  and  treachery,  such  a  perfectly 
ingenuous  countenance  as  I  have  attempted 
to  describe  does  not  often  refresh  our  sight,  I 
determined  to  make  an  acquaintance  with  its 
owner,  and  accordingly  I  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  Walter,  who  soon  became  very 
sociable  and  communicative.  He  showed  me, 
at  the  distance  of  about  half-a-mile,  the  chim- 
neys of  his  uncle's  house,  peeping  up  behind 
a  forest  of  apple-trees,  and  as  it  lay  near- 
ly in  my  way  to  the  little  village  where  I 
lodged,  I  determined  to  accompany  my  new 
acquaintance  there.  I  asked  Walter  if  he 
thought  his  aunt  would  spare  me  a  little  milk. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  95 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  she  will,  sir,"  replied  he; 
a  and  you  can  have  it  fresh  and  warm  from 
the  cow,  for  it  is  just  about  milking-time. 
Or,  if  you  like  it  better,  aunt  will  give  you  a 
glass  of  ale  or  of  cider.  Oh,  such  capital 
cider  we  make,  sir !  Uncle  often  says  that 
ours  is  the  very  best  cider  in  all  Devonshire. 
Aunt  always  gives  me  a  good  large  cup  full 
with  my  supper :  aunt  is  very  kind  to  me, 
sir ;  oh,  so  kind !  and  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
glad  to  give  you  any  thing  to  eat  or  drink  you 
like.  Only  I  must  tell  you  one  thing;  you 
must  not  do  what  some  very  fine  grand  ladies 
did  a  little  while  ago." 

Here  my  little  talkative  friend  paused,  and 
looked  rather  confused;  so  I  inquired  what 
these  fine  grand  ladies  had  been  guilty  of. 

"Why,  they  came  as  you  are  going  to  do 
now,  sir,"  replied  Walter,  "  and  asked  for 
some   milk;   and   aunt   gave   them   some,    of 


96  THE   INCENDIAKY. 

course,  and  some  bread  and  butter,  and  some 
honey,  and  what  do  you  think  they  did,  sir, 
when  they  were  going  away  ?  Why  they 
wanted  to  pay  for  it!  I  declare  aunt  looked 
downright  angry.  Her  face  was  as  red  as 
fire  with  anger;  and  I  never  in  all  my  life 
saw  her  so  but  once  before,  and  that  was 
when  she  caught  our  boy  Joe  tying  a  squib 
to  the  cat's  tail.  However,  she  managed  to 
keep  quiet  till  the  ladies  were  outside  of  the 
door,  and  then  she  said,  so  loudly  that  I  am 
pretty  sure  they  heard  her,  'When  I  keep 
a  public-house  I'll  hang  out  a  sign  !'  " 

I  promised  Walter  that  I  would  not  imitate 
the  conduct  of  these  offending  ladies;  and 
now,  crossing  a  winding,  narrow  pond  or 
moat,  by  a  bridge  formed  by  a  prostrate 
willow-tree,  we  passed  through  a  long  avenue 
of  magnificent  hollyhocks,  and  entered  the 
house.     My    conductor    showed    me    into   a 


THE  INCENDIARY.  97 

small,  neatly-furnished  parlour,  and  went  to 
call  his  aunt.  As  they  came  along  the  pas- 
sage, I  could  not  help  overhearing  Walter's 
description  of  his  new  acquaintance.  "  He 
is  so  pale  and  thin,  and  walks  so  slowly  !" 

I  beheld  in  Mrs.  Trimmer  the  personifi- 
cation of  neatness  and  good  order.  Her 
round,  plump  face  was  so  radiant  with  be- 
nevolence and  kindness,  that  I  could  easily 
believe  it  would  become  "  as  red  as  fire  with 
anger,"  at  the  sight  of  Joe's  naughty  pyro- 
technic experiment,  or  of  any  other  act  of 
inhumanity  towards  man  or  beast.  Perhaps 
my  sickly  appearance  and  "Walter's  account 
of  my  weakness  interested  the  good  woman's 
compassionate  feelings  in  my  favour,  for  she 
received  me  with  the  most  winning  kindness, 
and  with  genuine  rustic  good  breeding.  Wal- 
ter was  immediately  despatched  into  the  field 
for  a  refreshing  draught  of  new  milk. 


98  THE   INCENDIAKY. 

As  some  excuse  for  my  intrusion,  I  asked 
Mrs.  Trimmer  if  she  knew  any  person  in  the 
neighbourhood  who  had  comfortable  lodgings 
to  let.  She  replied  that  there  were  no  regu- 
lar lodging-houses  in  or  near  the  village  ;  but 
that  she  and  her  husband  had  been  think- 
ing of  taking  a  lodger,  if  they  could  meet 
with  one  who  would  be  content  with  humble 
accommodations  and  plain  fare.  As  she  said 
this,  she  looked  doubtfully,  first  at  the  low 
ceiling  and  simple  furniture  of  the  little  par- 
lour, and  then  at  myself.  No  doubt  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  man  and  the  apart- 
ment were  not  very  unsuitable  for  each  other, 
for  she  added: — "If  you,  sir,  would  like  to 
try  our  lodgings  for  a  few  weeks  and  could 
put  up  with  our  plain  farm-house  victuals, 
I'm  sure  I  would  do  my  best  to  make  you 
comfortable,  and  so  would  my  good  man,  for 
that  matter." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  99 

So  I  did  try  Mrs.  Trimmer's  lodgings  for  a 
month  or  two,  and  liked  my  quarters  and  my 
entertainers  so  well  that  I  became  a  yearly, 
instead  of  a  weekly  boarder.  As  for  "the 
plain  farm-house  victuals,"  I  envy  not  the 
man  who  could  not  be  content  with  the  sub- 
stantial, wholesome  meals  Mrs.  Trimmer  pro- 
vided for  her  family.  And  to  one  who,  like 
myself,  had  never  before  tasted  any  thing 
more  genuine  than  London  "  sky-blue,"  an 
unlimited  supply  of  the  richest  milk  and 
cream  was  a  delicious  novelty;  neither  must 
I  omit  to  praise  the  "best  cider  in  all  De- 
vonshire," which  well  deserved  the  name  of 
"apple-wine"  as  the  good  farmer  delighted 
to  call  it. 

Walter  and  I  soon  became  fast  friends ; 
and  the  plan  of  sending  him  to  a  school  was 
joyfully  abandoned  by  his  uncle  and  aunt, 
when  I  told  them  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure 


100  THE  INCENDIARY. 

to  me  to  devote  an  hour  or  two  in  the  day  to 
his  instruction.  Had  I  not  in  this  manner 
been  the  means  of  altering  my  young  friend's 
destination,  I  would  not  have  obtruded  so  in- 
significant a  personage  as  myself  upon  the 
reader's  notice,  for  I  had  rather  he  Walter's 
historian  than  my  own.  Let  us  return  to  the 
hay-field 


l-HE  INCENDIARY.  101 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  scene  of  our  labours  was  a  large  field 
on  the  side  of  a  very  gently-rising  ground, 
close  to  the  house.  Here  the  whole  of  Mr. 
Trimmer's  hay-making  force  was  assembled; 
for  the  mowers  had  but  just  finished  their  part 
of  the  work,  and  the  farmer  was  anxious  that 
the  very  heavy  crop  of  grass  should  be  spread 
abroad  to  the  sun  and  wind  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. 

Among  the  additional  haymakers  hired  the 

day  before,  I  could  not  help  noticing  a  man 

of  the  most  repulsive   and  unearthly   aspect 

imaginable.     With  prodigiously  long  legs  and 

arms,    he   would   have    been   as   tall   a   man 
9* 


102  THE   INCENDIAKY. 

as  Mr.  Trimmer,  if  nature  or  an  accident  had 
not  crooked  his  spine,  and  shortened  his 
body  to  about  half  its  proper  proportions. 
But  how  can  I  describe  his  countenance? 
This  was  so  fearfully  distorted,  and  the 
nose  and  mouth  were  thrust  so  much  to  one 
side,  that  his  only  remaining  eye,  which 
gleamed  like  a  burning  coal,  really  appeared 
to  be  placed  nearly  in  the  middle  of  his 
face. 

"That's  Polyphemus,  sir!"  whispered  Wal- 
ter to  me,  remembering  the  description  of 
the  King  of  the  Cyclops,  in  one  of  my 
books,  which  he  had  lately  been  reading.  I 
found,  on  inquiry,  that  this  man  had  but 
lately  appeared  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
that  very  little  was  known  about  him,  except 
that  his  name  was  Joe  Brindle,  and  that  he 
had  several  times  given  proof  that  his  dispo- 
sition   was    as    savage    as    his    appearance. 


THE   INCENDIARY.  103 

Some  incendiary  misdeeds  of  his  were  also 
talked  about,  and  I  was  surprised  that  the 
farmer  would  employ  such  a  man.  "Why 
sir,  I  believe  he's  a  bad  fellow/'  said  he :  "but 
he  is  a  capital  hand  for  the  work :  only  see 
how  famously  he  tosses  his  fork  about,  with 
those  long  arms  of  his  !  I  don't  much  like 
the  man,  but  when  labourers  are  scarce 
we  must  not  look  too  closely  at  them.  At 
haymaking-time  we  are  glad  to  get  any- 
body." 

For  more  than  two  hours  I  continued 
using  my  fork  very  steadily,  following  "  in 
the  wake,"  as  sailors  say,  of  Walter  and  his 
uncle,  for  the  sake  of  an  occasional  word  of 
instruction  or  encouragement.  But  before 
noon  I  was  compelled  to  give  up:  though 
\ery  desirous  of  making  a  whole  day's  work 
of  it,  the  unusual  exertion,  and  the  intense 
heat  of  the  sun,  entirely  exhausted  my  small 


104  THE   INCENDIARY. 

measure  of  strength,  and  made  me  retreat 
to  a  shady  corner  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
field,  where,  reposing  on  the  grass,  I  con- 
templated the  busy  scene  before  me. 

I  do  not  believe  that  I  slept,  because  be- 
tween the  undoubted  reality  of  the  scene  and 
the  visionary  character  of  what  followed,  there 
was  the  most  perfect  connection,  without  a 
moment's  forgetfulness.  The  fearful  and  fiery 
appearances  that  troubled  my  sight,  were,  no 
doubt,  the  delirious  imaginings  of  a  brain 
half  roasted  by  an  unusual  exposure  to 
the  fierce  heat  of  the  sun.  I  am  convinced 
that  I  was  suffering  from  a  slight  "  coup 
de  soleil;"  but  it  is  not  easy  to  under- 
stand why  the  events  that  really  took  place 
soon  afterwards,  should  have  been  in  some 
measure  foreshown  in  this  vision,  or  trance, 
or.  whatever  the  reader  may  please  to  call 
it. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  105 

I  continued  gazing  at  the  busy  group  of 
haymakers,  slowly  moving,  in  two  zigzag 
ranks,  across  the  field.  One  body  was  headed 
by  the  stout  farmer,  followed  by  his  nephew 
and  his  servants ;  and  the  other  rank  was 
composed  of  the  six  strangers,  including 
"  Polyphemus."  For  some  time  every  thing 
went  on  very  quietly  and  orderly.  Pre- 
sently Walter  began  to  appear  fidgetty  and 
uneasy;  and  at  last  he  said  to  Mr.  Trim- 
mer: 

"  Uncle !  uncle  James !  I  am  sure  it  is  so. 
I  saw  it  then  quite  plainly ;  only  look  when 
he  passes  us  again." 

"  Nonsense,  lad !  thou  art  dreaming,  or  if 
it  did  smoke  a  little,  it  was  from  the  heat  of 
this  burning  sun,  I  suppose :  I  am  half  on  fire 
myself." 

"But  why  should  it  smoke  and  crackle, 
when    he    treads    upon    it?     Oh,    frightful! 


106  THE    INCENDIARY. 

Look  at  his  shoes  uncle !  Only  look  at  the 
bottoms  of  his  shoes,  when  he  lifts  his  feet 
up." 

"I  say,  master,"  said  Parsons,  the  farmer's 
head  man,  coming  up  close  to  him,  and 
speaking  in  a  mysterious  tone ;  "  Master,  I 
don't  like  that  Brindle's  way  of  making  hay 
at  all !  Don't  ye  see  how  it  s?noJces,  when 
he  kicks  it  about  with  his  feet,  in  that  strange 
fashion :  depend  upon  it,  there's  something 
wrong  about  that  fellow : — look  at  his  shoes 
master  ! — look  at  those  great  iron  heels  on  his 
shoes !" 

"Ha,  well,  they  do  look  as  if  they  were 
rather  hot,  to  be  sure.  But  this  sun  dazzles 
my  eyes  so.  Well,  well,  as  I  told  Mr.  Ernest 
this  morning,  when  men  are  scarce  we  mustn't 
look  at  them  too  closely,  for  at  these  times 
we  are  glad  of  anybody.  Come,  my  lads, 
keep  moving." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  107 

Parsons  fell  back  into  his  place,  but  ap- 
peared dissatisfied ;  and  I  determined,  not- 
withstanding the  farmer's  advice,  to  look  very 
closely  indeed  at  Polyphemus  and  his  ex- 
traordinary method  of  making  hay.  Walter 
and  Parsons  were  right.  The  green  grass 
certainly  smoked  and  fizzed,  under  the  long- 
legged  monster's  feet ;  and  when  he  passed 
near  me,  I  saw  with  horror  that  the  large  iron 
heels  of  his  shoes  were  not  merely  red-hot, 
but  absolutely  glowing  and  sparkling  with 
intensity  of  heat.  Presently,  a  lock  of  hay, 
which,  in  his  strange  antics,  he  had  kicked 
aloft  into  the  air,  actually  took  fire,  and  be- 
fore it  reached  the  ground  was  entirely  con- 
sumed. 

"  Hallo  !  Brindle  !"  exclaimed  the  farmer, 
who  now  seemed  convinced  that  mischief 
was  in  the  wind ;  "I  say,  Brindle,  let  us 
have   no   more   of    that;    do    you    hear? — I 


108  THE   INCENDIARY. 

can't  afford  to  have  my  hay  wasted  in  that 
way." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  replied  he  of  the  fiery 
heel,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  like  the  lower 
notes  of  an  ill-played  basoon.  "  'Tisn't  my 
fault,  I  tell  you.  The  foolish  shoemaker 
would  put  upon  these  shoes  iron  heels  that 
had  been  made  by  some  newfangled  ma- 
chine or  other.  I  told  him  that  mischief 
would  come  of  it,  for  all  machines  are  inven- 
tions of  Satan,  and  they  will  do  their  mas 
ter's  work  in  some  way  or  other.  No  won- 
der these  heels  are  hot,  though  they  were 
made  a  twelvemonth  ago!  Confusion  to  the 
inventors  of  all  machines  and  contrivances 
for  taking  the  bread  out  of  the  poor  man's 
mouth  I" 

"Well,  that  beats  every  thing!"  said  the 
farmer.  "  What  does  he  say  ?  Iron  keep  hot 
for  a  twelvemonth !     Well,  well,  it  may  be 


THE   INCEKDIARY.  109 

bo,  though,  it  does  seem  odd,  to  be  sure :  we 
have  got  something  to  learn  yet,  nephew 
Walter ;  hut  we'll  ask  Mr.  Ernest  all  about  it, 
this  evening.  But  as  for  those  queer  shoes 
of  yours,  Brindle,  I  can't  have  my  hay  burnt 
up,  you  know.  So  just  run  down  to  that 
pond,  at  the  bottom  of  the  field,  and  try  if 
water  won't  cool  those  smoking  heels ;  do  ye 
hear?" 

The  man  obeyed,  muttering  a  fresh  male- 
diction upon  all  machines  and  their  inven- 
tors, while  the  farmer  and  his  men  stood 
leaning  on  their  forks,  waiting  to  see  what 
would  take  place  upon  the  meeting  of  the 
two  adverse  elements,  fire  and  water.  The 
result  was  sufficiently  extraordinary  to  have 
gratified  any  lover  of  the  marvellous,  who 
had  witnessed  it.  When  he  reached  the 
pond,    or   moat,    which    separated    the    field 

from   tne    garden,    the    man-monster    seated 
10 


110  THE   INCENDIARY. 

himself  astride  on  the  willow-tree  bridge,  with 
his  long  legs  hanging  down  on  each  side. 

The  instant  his  feet  touched  the  water,  there 
was  heard  a  noise  like  the  roaring  of  a  thou- 
sand sky-rockets,  and  such  a  dense  volume  of 
steam  rose  up,  that  the  machine-hater  was 
almost  entirely  concealed  by  it.  At  times, 
however,  when  the  breeze  blew  this  cur- 
tain of  vapour  aside,  he  might  be  seen 
swinging  his  arms  and  legs  about,  after  his 
own  extraordinary  manner,  while  his  demo- 
niac laugh  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the 
boiling  cauldron  beneath  him.  "Words,  al- 
so, of  strange  and  fearful  import  were 
heard : 

"  Fire,  fierce  and  inextinguishable !  The 
torch  of  revenge  to  his  roof,  and  the  sharp 
knife  to  his  throat,  of  the  man  who  shall  dare 
to  cheat  the  labourer  of  his  hire !" 

"Impertinent  fellow!"  said  Mr.  Trimmer. 


THE   INCENDIAItY.  Ill 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  But  I  wish  we  had 
never  sent  him  down  to  the  pond,  for  he'll 
soon  make  the  water  so  hot  that  all  the  eels 
will  be  killed.  Poor  things !  I  fancy  they 
are  beginning  to  perspire  in  their  holes  al- 
ready." 

"And  the  water-cresses!"  cried  Walter; 
"the  water-cresses  that  aunt  is  so  fond  of 
having  with  her  supper !  They  will  all  be 
spoilt.     Only  think  of  that,  uncle  !" 

"And  worse  than  that,  master,"  said  Par- 
sons;  "ten  times  worse  than  that;  all  the 
pretty  little  tadpoles  will  be  boiled  to 
a  jelly,  and  made  into  frog-broth,  poor 
things  !" 

"Shameful!"  exclaimed  the  farmer.  "I 
can't  bear  that.  I  am  a  peaceable  man,  but  I 
will  protect  the  tadpoles!  Their  poor  mo- 
thers, the  frogs,  laid  their  eggs  in  my  pond, 
with  the  understanding  that  the  water  should 


112  THE   INCENDIARY 

always  be  kept  cool  and  comfortable  for 
their  children.  'Tis  what  they  call  a  'breach 
of  confidence,  nephew  Walter,  and  whoever 
is  guilty  of  that  don't  deserve  the  name  of 
an  Englishman.  Follow  me,  my  men,  and 
we'll  soon  drive  this  fiery-footed  fellow  out 
of  the  parish." 

So  the  whole  company,  with  the  indignant 
farmer  at  their  head,  rushed  down  to  the  moat 
with  their  hay-forks  in  their  hands.  Brindle 
was  prepared  for  the  attack.  As  the  formid- 
able body  of  pikemen  approached,  gather- 
ing up  his  long  legs  under  him,  with  a  tre- 
mendous spring  he  leaped  far  over  the  head 
of  the  foremost  man,  who  had  made  an  un- 
successful thrust  at  him  with  his  fork,  and 
away  up  the  field  the  monster  ran  with  the 
speed  of  a  greyhound.  And  now  the  chase 
commenced  in  earnest.  In  hopes  of  sur- 
rounding the  enemy,  the  farmer  and  his  men 


THE   INCENDIARY.  113 

dispersed  themselves  over  the  field,  shouting 
to  each  other,  "Brindle  with  the  fiery  heel! 
After  him  !  Down  with  him  !  Death  to  the 
incendiary  !" 

The  monster's  method  of  progression  was 
singular.  It  was  neither  running,  nor  leap- 
ing, nor  flying  over  the  ground,  but  a  fearful 
and  supernatural  rolling1.  Stretching  out 
his  long  arms  and  legs,  he  became  an  ani- 
mated wheel,  of  which  his  shortened  body 
formed  the  nave  ;  and,  as  it  revolved  with  ex- 
treme rapidity,  a  rim  was  supplied  by  a  bright 
band  of  fire  and  sparks  proceeding  from  the 
glowing  heels* 

What  chance  had  human  pursuers  of  over- 
taking such  a  demon  wheel  as  this  ?  None 
whatever;  and  they  soon  wished  that  they 
had  not  disturbed  him  from  his  seat  on  the 
bridge,    for   the    incendiary's    evil   intentions 

were  now  but  too   apparent.     As  the  rolling 
10* 


114  THE   INCENDIAEY. 

monster  coursed  rapidly  up  and  down  the 
field,  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  imitate  the 
action  of  a  haymaking  machine,  his  arms 
and  legs  seizing  the  grass  in  his  course,  and 
throwing  it  aloft  in  the  air.  Like  a  haymak- 
ing machine,  but  with  a  difference  I  For 
instead  of  suffering  the  hay  thus  tossed  up 
to  fall  quietly  on  the  ground  behind  it,  this 
fearful  machine  set  it  in  a  blaze,  and  its 
destructive  course  was  marked  by  a  long 
train  of  fire  and  smoke.  Breathless  with 
running,  the  farmer  and  his  men  ceased  from 
the  hopeless  pursuit,  and  stood  in  a  corner  of 
the  field,  contemplating  with  dismay  the  pro- 
gress of  the  incendiary. 

"  'Tis  the  best  crop  of  hay  I  ever  cut  in 
my  life,"  exclaimed  the  poor  farmer ;  "  and 
this  villain  won't  leave  us  a  single  blade  of 
it." 

"And  worse  still,   master,"   said  Parsons; 


THE   INCENDIARY.  115 

"  ten  thousand  times  worse  than  that ! — the 
pond  is  all  dried  up,  and  the  tadpoles  are 
left  half  dead  on  the  mud.  And  as  for  the 
eels,  I  don't  believe  there's  a  lively  one  among 
them  all.  I  asked  one  great  creature,  as 
big  as  my  arm,  who  was  lying  with  his  head 
out  of  his  hole,  how  he  felt  himself  after 
his  hot  bath.  Says  the  eel  to  me,  c  Par- 
sons, I  am  ruined ! — I'm  boiled,  I  declare  ! 
The  cook  that  skins  me  won't  have  much 
trouble  with  the  job.  She  needn't  put  any 
sand  upon  her  hands !  I  can't  move  an 
inch  out  of  my  hole,  for  fear  I  should 
leave  my  skin  behind  me.  If  I  don't 
sue  that  Brindle  for  damages  at  the  next 
sessions,  may  I  be  broiled  and  eaten  alive  !'" 
The  incidents  of  my  vision  now  became 
still  more  confused  and  extravagant.  Wal- 
ter declared  that,  if  nobody  else  would  stop 
the   progress  of  the   fiery  wheel,    he   would 


116  THE   INCENDIARY. 

try  what  he  could  do.  Placing  himself  in 
the  monster's  way,  he  was  immediately 
dashed  to  the  ground,  and  arose  with  a 
torrent  of  blood  flowing  from  his  temples. 

"That's  just  what  I  wanted,"  said  he; 
"there's  nothing  like  blood  for  quench- 
ing fire.  'Tis  better  than  an  ocean  of 
water." 

Then  I  saw  that  he  also  became  a  wheel, 
spouting  forth  a  crimson  torrent  instead 
of  fire ;  and  as  he  followed  close  in  the 
track  of  the  other,  the  train  of  flame  and 
sparks  was  quenched,  till  at  length  the 
discomfited  incendiary  demon,  finding  he 
could  do  no  more  mischief,  rolled  himself 
out  of  the  field,  and  I  saw  him  no  more. 
But  in  the  reverberations  of  a  terrible  thun- 
der-clap, which  burst  over-head  at  the  in- 
stant he  disappeared,  I  could  distinguish  the 
words, 


THE   INCENDIARY.  117 

"  Confusion  ! — Out-witted   by   a  powerless 
child!" 


I  found  myself  lying  on  the  grass,  sur- 
rounded by  the  farmer  and  several  of  his  men. 
Walter  was  kneeling  by  my  side. 

"Don't  drop  the  blood  upon  my  face!" 
said  I  to  the  boy. 

"Blood,  Mr.  Ernest !  'Tis  water :  we  found 
you  in  a  fainting-fit,  and  uncle  said  that  bath- 
ing your  face  would  be  the  best  way  to  bring 
you  round  again." 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  water  from,  Wal- 
ter?" 

"Out  of  the  moat,  sir.  It  is  not  very 
clean,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  the  nearest  I 
could  find." 

"  Then  Brindle  has  not  dried  up  the 
water  after  all !     And  the  tadpoles  and  the 


118  THE   INCENDIARY. 

eels,  eh,  Walter,  are  they  all  well  and  com- 
fortable?" 

The  boy  laughed,  and  one  of  the  men 
whispered  to  his  companions,  "  The  gen- 
tleman has  been  making  free  with  that  cider- 
keg,  I  am  thinking,  and  the  liquor  has  been 
rather  too  strong  for  him." 

"Come,  sir,"  said  the  farmer,  "take  hold 
of  my  arm,  and  let  us  go  into  the  house. 
The  work  and  the  heat  have  been  too  much 
for  you.  I  never  felt  such  a  roasting  sun  in 
all  my  life.  You  must  lie  down  on  the  bed 
for  an  hour  or  two,  and  you  will  soon  be 
better." 

I  took  Mr.  Trimmer's  advice,  and  after  a 
sound  sleep  of  some  hours,  I  awoke  with  no 
remains  of  my  sun-stroke  but  a  slight  head- 
ache. I  said  nothing  about  the  strange 
spectral  illusions  of  the  hay-field;  but  when 
closely  questioned  by  Walter  on  the  subject, 


THE   INCENDIARY.  119 

I  told  hini  I  had  been  in  a  kind  of  a  trance. 
However,  I  assured  my  friends  that  I  had 
not  been  "  making  free  with  the  cider- 
keg." 


120  THE  INCENDIARY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  MISSED  the  farmer  at  breakfast  the  next 
morning,  and  found,  on  inquiry,  that  he  had 
mounted  his  horse  soon  after  daybreak,  and 
had  galloped  off,  without  saying  whither  he 
was  bound,  or  upon  what  errand.  He  re- 
turned before  we  had  finished  our  meal,  and 
Mrs.  Trimmer  inquired  if  he  had  been  to  seek 
for  more  haymakers. 

"Yes,  I  have,  sure  enough,"  replied  he: 
"  and  I  have  found  one,  and  hired  him ;  and  a 
famous  good  hand  he  is  too." 

"  One  haymaker,  indeed !  Well,  to  be  sure, 
one  is  just  better  than  none  at  all ;  but  I  was 
in  hopes  you  would  have  brought  back 
twenty." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  121 

"But  the  one  I  have  hired  will  do  the  work 
of  any  twenty  haymakers  in  the  country ;  aye, 
and  do  it  better  than  they  would,  into  the  bar- 
gain." 

"  The  man  is  dreaming  !"  cried  the  dame. 

"  Uncle  has  been  in  a  trance,  like  you  were 
yesterday,  Mr.  Ernest,"  said  Walter,  slyly 
looking  at  me. 

"Hold  your  tongues,  wife  and  nephew, 
and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  As  I  lay 
awake  last  night,  thinking  how  we  should 
manage  to  get  in  our  hay  without  more 
hands,  all  of  a  sudden  it  popped  into  my 
head  that  Squire  Thornley  had  got  a  hay- 
making machine.  Said  I  to  myself,  '  They 
are  earlier  down  in  that  warm  bottom  than 
we  are  here,  by  a  week  or  more ;  and  I  dare 
say  the  squire  has  got  all  his  hay  in  by  this 
time.     I'll  ride  over  to-morrow,   and  ask  him 

to  lend  me  the  machine  for  a  day  or  two, 
11 


122  THE   INCENDIARY. 

your  aunt  round  to  our  way  of  thinking.  For 
my  part,  I  am  too  busy  eating  to  do  any  thing 
but  listen  to  you.  Now,  wife,  it  is  your  turn  : 
Walter  says  you  use  machines." 

"I  use  a  machine!  no  never.  I  think 
you  must  be  in  a  trance  now,  Walter." 

"Well,  aunt,  I  am  sure  that  harrel-chum 
of  yours  is  a  machine,  and  so  are  all  churns. 
Only  fancy  how  cross  Sally,  the  dairy-maid, 
would  be,  if  you  were  to  tell  her  that  she  must 
never  use  a  churn." 

"But  she  couldn't  make  butter  without 
some  sort  of  a  churn,  Walter." 

"I  think  she  might,  aunt.  If  she  was  to 
take  a  whisk,  and  beat  the  cream  about  for 
half  a  day,  I  am  pretty  sure  the  butter  would 
come  at  last.  But  stop,  she  must  not  use  a 
whisk,  for  that  is  a  sort  of  a  machine  too.  So 
the  only  thing  she  could  do,  would  be  to 
thrust  those  great  red  arms  of  hers  into  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  123 

these  new  machines,  whether  for  haymaking, 
or  thrashing,  or  what  not.  My  father  and 
his  father  before  him  would  never  use  any- 
thing of  the  kind,  and  they  were  the  best 
farmers  in  all  the  county.  Ah !  Mr.  Ernest, 
you  may  smile,  but  depend  upon  it,  sir,  these 
machines  will  be  the  ruin  of  the  country,  in 
spite  of  what  that  book  you  were  talking  about 
may  say  to  the  contrary." 

Mrs.  Trimmer  alluded  to  a  very  clever 
little  work,  called  "  The  Results  of  Ma- 
chinery," which  had  been  sent  to  me  in  a 
packet  of  other  literary  food,  by  a  kind  friend 
in  London. 

"Aunt  will  never  agree  with  the  man 
who  wrote  that  book,"  said  Walter:  "and 
yet  she  uses  machines  every  day  of  her 
fife." 

"  That's  right,  Walter,"  said  Mr.  Trimmer. 
"  That's  a  good  boy :  see  if  you  can  bring 


124  THE   INCENDIARY. 

and  then  a  fig  for  these  haymakers.'  Well,  I 
rode  over  to  the  squire's  and  found  that  he 
was  in  bed,  and  that  he  wouldn't  be  down  for 
an  hour  or  more.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  '  There's 
no  time  to  be  lost.  He  is  a  kind-hearted  gen- 
tleman, and  one  that  won't  take  offence  when 
none  is  intended,  and  he  has  seen  enough  of 
farming  business  himself  to  know  what  it  is  to 
be  in  trouble  for  want  of  hands.  I'll  venture 
to  disturb  him  from  his  nap.'  So  I  wrote  a 
bit  of  a  note,  and  got  his  man  to  take  it  up  to 
him.  Well,  in  a  minute  or  two,  down  comes 
my  note  again,  and  on  the  back  the  good  gen- 
tleman had  written  with  a  pencil,  'Yes,  and 
welcome.'  So  that's  the  clever  haymaker  I 
have  engaged,  and  in  half-an-hour  he  will 
be  here.  Well,  my  good  woman,  what  now  ? 
I  think  you  don't  look  altogether  pleased 
about  it." 

"  No,  I  never  am  pleased  when  I  hear  of 


THE  INCENDIARY.  125 

cream,  and  work  them  about  till  she  was  tired. 
Ha  !  ha  !  I  think  butter  would  soon  be  half-a- 
crown  a  pound,  if  people  were  obliged  to  make 
it  that  way." 

"Well,  then,  I  suppose  we  must  have  a 
churn,  that's  all.  But  I  never  heard  it  said 
that  butter  was  made  by  machinery  before. 
However,  churns  have  been  used  these  hun- 
dreds of  years,  that's  one  comfort,  and  'tis 
these  new-fangled  machines  that  I  dislike." 

"  Capital !  there's  one  point  gained.  Now, 
nephew  Walter,  now  !"  cried  the  farmer. 

"Then,  aunt,  there  is  that  patent  cheese- 
press,  that  uncle  bought  at  farmer  Bright's 
sale,  last  winter.  I  am  sure  that  is  a  ma- 
chine, and  quite  a  neiv-fangled  one  too. 
You  must  turn  that  out  of  the  dairy,  aunt,  and 
press  the  cheeses  with  a  board  and  some 
heavy  stones  laid    upon   it.     But  I  suppose 

the  author  of  'The  Results  of  Machinery,' 
11* 


126  THE   INCENDIARY. 

would  say  that  the  board  and  stones  were 
machinery  too.  So  then,  the  dairy-maids 
must  sit  upon  the  cheeses  day  and  night,  like 
so  many  brood-hens  hatching  their  eggs,  till 
they  were  pressed  dry  enough.  What  a  num- 
ber of  dairy-maids  you  must  have,  aunt !  and 
only  fancy  a  row  of  about  a  dozen  of  them,  all 
sitting  on  their  eggs — on  their  cheeses,  I 
mean !" 

"What  nonsense  the  boy  is  talking  !" 

"  Then  there  is  the  winch  and  chain  at 
the  well,  that's  another  machine,  aunt;  and 
the  smoke-jack,  and  the  chaff-cutter,  and 
the " 

"Walter,"  interrupted  the  farmer,  "cut  me 
one  more  slice  of  bacon,  and  then  I  shall  do 
till  dinner-time." 

"  I  can't  uncle,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 
roguish  look  at  Mrs.  Trimmer.  "  A  knife  is 
a  sort   of  machine,   and  aunt  will   be    angry 


THE   INCENDIARY.  127 

if  I  use  one.  Shall  I  tear  off  a  piece  of  bacon 
•with  my  fingers,  aunt?" 

"  My  patience !"  cried  the  good  dame, 
rising  up  from  the  table  ;  "  this  boy  is  get- 
ting a  great  deal  too  learned  for  me.  I 
must  go  and  see  after  those  lazy  maids  of 
mine." 

"  And  I  must  go  and  see  after  my  new  hay- 
maker," said  the  farmer :  "  he  isn't  lazy,  at 
any  rate." 

In  a  short  time  this  new  haymaker  ar- 
rived, and  was  immediately  put  to  work  in 
the  field ;  and  though  I  had  no  wish  for  an- 
other sun-stroke,  with  its  accompanying  fiery 
vision,  I  could  not  help  going  out  for  a 
short  time,  to  witness  its  performance.  To 
those  who  have  never  seen  a  haymaking 
machine,  a  short  description  may  be  neces- 
sary. 

The  principal  part  was  a  long  barrel,  or 


128  THE   INCENDIARY. 

roller,  covered  -with  iron  spikes,  and  mounted 
on  a  low,  strong  carriage,  running  on  two 
wheels,  which  were  connected  with  the 
spiked  roller  by  wheelwork.  But  it  was  so 
contrived  that,  when  the-  wheels  turned 
round,  the  roller  revolved  much  faster  than 
they  did,  and  it  was  placed  at  such  a  height 
that  the  iron  spikes  almost  touched  the 
ground. 

This  clever  haymaker  did  its  work  beauti- 
fully. The  machine  was  drawn  slowly  over 
the  field  by  horses,  and  as  the  roller  revolved 
the  spikes  caught  up  the  hay,  throwing  it 
aloft  in  a  finely  divided  shower,  so  that 
every  blade  of  grass  was  separated,  and  ex- 
posed to  the  drying  influences.  Walter, 
who  had  never  seen  a  haymaking  machine 
before,  was  in  ecstasies.  As  he  examined 
the  hay  deposited  on  the  ground  behind 
the   machine,   he  exclaimed,    "  Look,    uncle ! 


THE   INCENDIARY.  129 

only  look  how  beautifully  it  spreads  it  about ! 
I  do  hope  that  aunt  will  come  out  by  and 
by,  and  see  it.  Huzza  !  machinery  for  ever  ! 
But  there  is  aunt,  I  declare,  feeding  the 
ducks  in  the  moat;  when  she  turns  round 
this  way  again  I'll  wave  my  hat  to  her. 
Now  she  sees  us!  Ah,  and  she  shakes  her 
head  too ;  she  doesn't  like  machinery  yet>  un- 
cle James." 

And  there  -were  some  others  present  who 
held  the  same  opinions  as  Mrs.  Trimmer. 
There  was  some  low  grumbling  and  angry 
looks  among  the  newly-hired  men;  and  a 
circumstance  soon  occurred  which  proved 
that  there  was  at  least  one  determined 
enemy  to  machinery  in  the  field  that  day. 
For  presently,  those  who  were  near  the  ma- 
chine were  alarmed  by  a  loud  crash,  while  at 
the  same  instant  a  hay-fork  was  tossed  up  in- 
to the  air  by  the  roller,  and  Walter  narrowly 


130  THE   INCENDIARY. 

escaped  being  impaled  by  it,  as  it  fell  to  the 
ground.  Fortunately  the  machine  was  but 
little  injured.  Some  of  the  spikes  were  bent 
out  of  their  places,  but  the  smith  could  easily 
set  them  to  rights  in  the  evening,  and  in  the 
mean  time  the  machine  would  perform  its  work 
very  nearly  as  well  as  before. 

"Master,"  said  Parsons,  in  a  whisper,  to 
the  farmer,  "  I  say,  master,  that  fork  was  put 
in  the  way  on  purpose.  If  it  wasn't,  I'll  eat 
it  for  dinner,  iron  and  all.  I  am  sure  'twas 
hid  under  the  hay  on  purpose ;  for  I  was  walk- 
ing just  before  the  horses,  and  I  must  have 
seen  it,  if  it  had  not  been  covered  up.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  master,  that  Brindle  is  the 
man  that  did  it." 

"Likely  enough,"  replied  the  farmer: 
"  Likely  enough,  Parsons ;  but  we  can't  prove 
it,  you  know.  However,  I  wish  we  had  never 
hired  him." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  131 

"Uncle,"  said  "Walter,  who  had  been  exam- 
ining the  handle  of  the  fork,  "just  look  here, 
uncle!" 

"  Well,  lad,  I  see  nothing  there,  but  the 
marks  of  the  teeth  of  the  machine." 

"It  isn't  those  marks  I  mean,  but  just 
here,  and  here  again,  there  are  spots  of 
blood,  and  they  are  hardly  dry  yet.  The 
man  that  used  this  fork  last  has  hurt  his 
hand;  and  I  think  you  may  find  him  out 
that  way,  for  nobody  has  touched  it  be- 
sides myself,  since  the  machine  threw  it 
up.  I  have  no  cut  on  my  hands,  have  I, 
uncle  ?" 

"That  will  do  the  business  for  us,  I  de- 
clare !  so  call  all  the  men  together,  Parsons, 
and  make  them  stand  in  a  row.  "Well  done, 
nephew  Walter !  that  was  a  lucky  thought ; 
we  shall  find  the  rogue  out  this  way,  I  do  be- 
lieve." 


132  THE   INCENDIARY. 

When  the  men  were  all  assembled,  the  far- 
mer addressed  them. 

"  Now,  my  men,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want 
to  accuse  any  of  you  of  playing  this  shabby 
trick,  but  somebody  must  have  done  it,  you 
know.  Now  then,  listen  to  me.  If  any  man 
has  a  mind  to  confess  that  he  put  that  fork 
under  the  hay,  let  him  step  forward  and  beg 
pardon ;  but  all  of  you  that  declare  you 
know  nothing  about  it,  hold  up  both  your 
hands!" 

"  I  was  sure  of  it ! — Thee  art  the  man  !" — 
cried  Parsons,  suddenly  flying  at  Polyphemus, 
and  grasping  him  by  the  throat.  "  Take  hold 
of  his  arm,  master !  make  him  show  his  hand 
again.  There !  'Tis  all  bloody,  you  see. 
Oh,  thou  villain  !" 

Notwithstanding  the  strong  testimony  of 
the  bleeding  hand,  Brindle  sulkily  denied 
that  lie  was  the  offender.     And,  after  a  little 


THE   INCENDIARY.  133 

consideration,  Mr.  Trimmer  came  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  if  he  were  to  take  the  man  before 
the  squire,  besides  losing  much  valuable  time, 
he  should  find  it  difficult  to  prove  that  he  laid 
the  fork  under  the  hay  with  an  evil  inten- 
tion. Parsons  and  some  of  the  men  proposed 
a  ducking  in  the  moat,  but  the  farmer  would 
not  allow  it ;  so  all  the  punishment  Brin- 
dle  received  was  instant  dismissal,  without  his 
wages. 

He  departed,  grumbling  like  an  enraged 
bear,  and  one  of  the  men  declared  he  heard 
the  words — "hear  of  me  again  before  you 
die  !" 

"  What  dost  say,"  exclaimed  the  indig- 
nant Parsons,  "  Hear  of  thee  again  ! — Likely 
enough  !  For  my  part,  I  hope  to  hear  of 
thee  swinging  on  a  gallows,  before  long. 
Master,    we    must  look    sharp,     or    he'll    do 

us  a  mischief  one  of  these  days.     I've  heard 
12 


134  THE   INCENDIARY. 

say  that  that  Joe  Brindle,  or  '  Polly  Famous,' 
as  master  Walter  calls  him,  has  been  famous, 
sure  enough,  for  these  sort  of  doings,  before 


THE  INCENDIARY.  135 


CHAPTER  IV. 

In  three  days  after  the  dismissal  of  Brindle, 
by  the  valuable  assistance  of  the  machine,  and 
by  the  greatest  exertions  on  the  part  of  men 
and  horses,  Mr.  Trimmer's  hay  was  all  se- 
cured, and  deposited  in  the  rick-yard,  in  the 
form  of  three  prodigious  haymows.  -Not  four 
hours  after  the  last  load  had  been  brought 
home,  the  rain,  which  had  been  threatening  all 
day,  began  to  descend,  first,  in  a  light,  almost 
invisible  mist,  increasing  by  degrees  to  a 
heavy,  downright  deluge. 

The  farmer  stood  at  the  window,  contem- 
plating his  haymows,  safe  under  the  shelter 
of    the     tarpaulins,    and    prophesying    that 


136  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  wet  weather  would  last  for  a  week  at 
least.  I  was  surprised  to  observe  that  he  was 
in  an  unusually  grave  and  meditative  mood. 
When  I  congratulated  him  on  his  good  for- 
tune, he  said : 

"  Better  than  I  deserve,  sir !  Far  better 
than  I  deserve :  for  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
that  I  have  grumbled  a  little  sometimes 
when  it  has  pleased  God  to  send  us  such 
weather  as  this  before  the  crops  were  se- 
cured. Mr.  Ernest,  I  have  been  trying  to 
think  how  I  should  have  felt,  and  ivhat  1 
should  have  said,  if  this  rain  had  come  yes- 
terday !  Ah !  I  am  not  half  so  patient  and 
grateful  as  my  poor  father  was  !  He  ne- 
ver complained  of  too  much  rain,  or  too 
much  drought,  'for,'  said  he,  'what  is  bad 
for  one  crop  may  be  good  for  another.'  I 
remember  once,  when  I  was  a  boy,  father 
had  got   his  hay  in  that  very  field  we  have 


f 

THE   INCENDIARY.  137 

been  working  in  to-day,  all  beautifully  made, 
without  a  drop  of  wet  upon  it,  and  they  were 
just  going  to  begin  to  carry  it  home,  when 
all  of  a  sudden,  a  storm  came  up  over  the 
water,  down  came  the  rain,  five  times  harder 
than  it  does  now,  and  in  ten  minutes  every 
bit  of  hay  was  entirely  soaked.  "Well,  sir, 
father  came  into  this  very  room,  (I  remem- 
ber I  was  sitting  by  the  fire  at  the  time,  for 
I  was  just  out  of  the  measles,)  he  came  in 
smiling  and  cheerful,  and  as  he  took  off  his 
dripping  wet  coat,  he  said  to  me,  'Ah, 
Jemmy,  my  boy  !  this  is  a  lovely  rain  for  the 
turnips  !'*  That  was  five  and  thirty  long 
years  ago,  Mr.  Ernest,  but  I  haven't  for- 
gotten it  yet.  Well,  my  good  dame,"  con- 
tinued the  farmer  to  his  wife,  who  just  then 
entered  the  room;   "well,  what  dost  say  to  it 

now?" 

*  A  fact. 
12* 


t 

138  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Say  to  what,  I  should  like  to  know ?" 

"  Why,  to  this  change  of  weather,  and  to 
our  good  luck  in  getting  every  bit  of  our  hay 
in  just  in  time." 

"  Well,  I  say  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,  sure 
enough." 

"  But,  aunt,  this  is  one  of  '  the  results  of 
machinery,  "  said  Walter. 

"True  enough,  boy,"  replied  his  uncle, 
"for  without  the  help  of  that  machine,  our 
hay,  instead  of  being  snug  under  shelter 
there,  would  be  lying  abroad,  soaking  and 
spoiling  in  this  rain.  Now,  my  good  woman, 
confess.  Machinery  isn't  such  a  bad  thing  as 
you  thought,  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  if  no  more  harm  came  of  it  than 
this  haymaking  machine  has  done  just  now, 
I  wouldn't  complain.  But  I  have  heard 
of  poor  people  being  thrown  out  of  work 
and    half    starved    by    some    of    these   new 


THE    INCENDIARY.  139 

schemes.  That's  the  sort  of  machinery  I 
don't  like." 

"Now,  nephew  Walter,"  said  the  farmer, 
"come,  you  shall  go  on  with  it,  for  I  am  get- 
ting out  of  my  depth.  But  you  have  read  the 
book  through  from  beginning  to  end.  Now 
then,  what  have  ye  got  to  say  to  that?" 

"Why,  aunt,  the  author  of  the  book  says 
that — but  Mr.  Ernest  can  explain  it  a  thou- 
sand times  better  than  I  can." 

I  told  Walter  that  I  should  much  rather 
hear  him  go  on  with  the  argument  himself,  so 
he  continued. 

"He  says  that,  whenever  a  machine  is 
invented  to  do  any  sort  of  work  quicker  than 
it  could  be  done  by  hand,  it  generally  hap- 
pens that  a  good  many  people  who  used 
to  get  their  bread  by  working  at  that  trade, 
lose  their  employment,  and  of  course  that 
seems    a    bad    thing.     But    then    this    new 


140  THE   INCENDIARY. 

machine,  suppose  'tis  a  machine  for  weaving 
cloth,  makes  it  so  much  cheaper  than  it 
could  be  done  by  hand,  that  people  can  buy 
three  or  four  times  as  much  for  their  money 
as  they  did  before.  So  there's  more  good 
than  harm  done,  you  see,  aunt.  Then,  by 
and  by,  such  a  quantity  of  this  cheap  cloth, 
or  whatever  the  thing  may  be,  is  used,  that 
there  are  more  people  wanted  to  manage 
the  machines  than  ever  worked  at  that  trade 
before  they  were  invented.  So  nobody  need 
complain." 

As  Walter  paused  in  his  harangue,  I  whis- 
pered to  him  a  single  word  which  started  him 
off  again  directly. 

"  Thank  you,  sir  !  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
that.  Aunt,  how  would  you  like  that  all  the 
books  in  the  world  should  be  burnt;  Bibles 
and  all,  and  that  nobody  should  be  allowed  to 
print  any  more  ?" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  141 

"  Why,  I  should  not  like  it  at  all,  Walter. 
What  is  the  boy  talking  about  now  ?" 

"Well,  aunt,  before  the  machine  they  call 
a  printing-press  was  invented,  every  book 
was  obliged  to  be  written  with  a  pen,  and 
there  were  a  great  many  people  who  got 
their  living  entirely  by  copying  books ;  so 
you  may  be  sure  they  were  very  dear  at  that 
time.  But  when  the  printing  machine  was 
invented,  these  copying  people  complained 
sadly,  because  they  had  nothing  more  to 
do,  for  the  printed  books  were  much  neater 
than  the  written  ones,  and  didn't  cost  half  a 
quarter  as  much.  So  almost  everybody  that 
could  read  bought  some  books,  and  then 
they  taught  their  children  to  read  too,  and 
more  books  were  wanted  for  them.  And 
though  the  poor  copyers  lost  their  employ- 
ment at  first,  I  dare  say  they  soon  learned 
to    be    printers,    for    so   many   books    were 


142  THE   INCENDIARY. 

wanted  that  the  printing-machines  could  find 
work  for  them  all,  and  for  a  great  many  more 
people  besides." 

"Well,  boy,"  replied  Mrs.  Trimmer,  "I 
hope  'tis  all  for  the  best,  but  I  can't  argue 
with  thee.  If  father  was  alive  though,  I 
think  he  would  answer  thee  or  the  man  that 
wrote  that  famous  book  either.  He  would 
soon  drive  you  up  into  a  corner,  depend 
upon  it. — But  come,  I  want  thee  to  stop  up  a 
rat-hole  for  me  in  the  fowl-house,  for  the  ver- 
min got  in  last  night  and  sucked  half-a-dozen 
eggs." 

"  Uncle  is  going  to  buy  me  a  rat-catching 
machine"  said  the  boy,  following  his  aunt, 
laughing  ;  "  and  I  am  to  have  a  penny  a  piece 
for  all  the  rats  I  catch.  But  if  our  poor  cats 
could  speak,  I  dare  say  they  would  say  that  it 
was  very  unfair  to  do  their  work  for  them  by 
machinery." 


THE   INCENDIARY.  143 

For  several  weeks  after  this  discussion 
nothing  worth  recording  took  place  at  the 
farm,  except  that  Walter's  rat-catching  ma- 
chine, otherwise  a  common  gin,  was  pro- 
cured from  the  town,  and  soon  gained  a 
very  agreeable  addition  of  pocket-money 
for  its  owner.  But  at  length  a  circumstance 
occurred  which  gave  Walter  a  good  deal  of 
uneasiness.  He  generally  set  his  gin  in  the 
barn  at  night,  and  paid  his  last  visit  to  it 
just  before  he  went  to  bed ;  but  one  morning, 
instead  of  seeing  his  usual  pennyworth  dead 
in  its  close  embrace,  he  was  shocked  to  find 
a  mangled  leg  remaining  in  the  gin,  the 
poor  animal  to  whom  it  had  belonged  having 
made  its  escape.  Now  my  young  friend 
had  one  good  quality,  which,  I  grieve  to 
say,  is  very  rare  indeed  with  boys  of  his 
class.  Walter  Trimmer  was  exceedingly  hu- 
mane   and    kind-hearted.      Therefore,    when 


144  THE   INCENDIARY. 

he  considered  what  suffering  he  had  been 
the  means  of  inflicting  upon  this  poor  rat, 
he  determined  never  again  to  set  his  gin  at 
night,  and  in  the  daytime  only,  when  he  could 
have  an  opportunity  of  visiting  it  frequently. 
This  resolution  proved  that  his  humane  feel- 
ings were  powerful  and  unfeigned,  for  by 
adhering  to  it  he  would  lose  a  great  part 
both  of  his  profits  and  amusement.  For 
Walter,  like  other  boys  of  his  age,  (and  like 
many  grown-up  boys  also,)  took  great  de- 
light in  rat-catching,  which  he  esteemed  a 
very  noble  and  interesting  sport.  To  those 
who  are  not  of  his  opinion,  and  who  may  think 
that  too  much  has  already  been  said  on  this 
subject,  I  must  apologise,  by  reminding  them 
that  important  events  often  arise  from  small 
and  insignificant  causes  ;  and  so  it  was  in  this 
instance.  To  preserve  the  regularity  of  the 
story,  I  shall  relate  the   events   that  followed 


THE   INCENDIARY.  145 

m  the  order  in  which  they  occurred,  not  as 
they  came  to  my  knowledge. 

One  night,  after  Walter  was  in  bed,  he 
suddenly  remembered  he  had  omitted  to  pay 
his  usual  visit  to  his  gin,  before  he  retired 
to  rest,  and  that  it  still  remained  set  in  one 
of  the  barns.  What  should  he  do?  He 
could  not  sleep  comfortably  with  the  idea  that, 
owing  to  his  neglect,  it  was  quite  possible 
that  an  unfortunate  rat  might  be  caught,  and 
be  compelled  to  endure  the  pain  of  a  broken 
leg  till  the  morning.  Then,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  was  a  dismally  wet,  blowing  night,  and  the 
barn  was  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
house.  To  some  boys,  the  mere  idea  of  go- 
ing out  alone  in  the  dark  would  have  had 
its  terrors,  but  Walter  had  no  superstitious 
fears,  and  he  was  constantly  in  the  habit  of 
wandering  about  the  premises  by  himself  at 

night. 

13 


146  THE   INCENDIARY. 

For  some  time  the  boy  endeavoured  to 
silence  the  promptings  of  humanity,  by  think- 
ing, that  of  all  the  rats  he  had  ever  caught 
there  was  only  one  that  had  not  been  put 
out  of  its  pain  instantly,  and  it  was  very  im- 
probable that  another  instance  of  the  kind 
should  occur  just  at  this  time.  So  he  de- 
termined to  think  no  more  about  it,  but  to 
lie  quietly  till  the  morning.  But  of  all  the 
enemies  of  comfortable  sleep  an  uneasy 
mind  is  the  most  certain  and  unappeasable ; 
and  so  poor  Walter  found  it  on  this  occasion. 
He  could  not  sleep.  Therefore,  after  vainly 
combating  with  the  enemy  till  past  midnight, 
he  was  obliged  to  yield  at  last :  so  putting  on 
his  clothes  in  the  dark,  he  groped  his  way 
sis  quietly  as  possible  down  into  the  kitchen, 
and  lighted  the  candle  of  a  lantern  at  the  re- 
mains of  the  wood-fire. 

"  Now,  then,  if  I  can  but  contrive  to  open 


THE  INCENDIARY.  147 

this  door  quietly!"  said  he  to  himself,  as 
he  carefully  drew  back  the  bolt;  "if  uncle 
and  aunt  don't  hear  me,  I'll  never  tell  them 
a  word  about  it,  for  perhaps  they  would  laugh 
at  me  for  what  I  am  doing.  What  a  dis- 
mally dark  night !  I  hope  I  shan't  fall  into 
the  moat.  But  it  doesn't  rain  now,  that's  one 
comfort." 

Walter  crossed  the  moat  by  a  tolerably 
wide  bridge  of  planks,  which  connected  the 
garden  with  the  farm-yard.  As  he  passed 
over,  he  held  down  his  lantern  to  ascertain 
if  the  heavy  rains  had  raised  the  water  much 
above  its  usual  level;  for  if  this  were  the 
case,  he  knew  that  he  should  have  the  plea- 
sure in  the  morning  of  opening  the  flood- 
gate, in  the  field  at  the  further  end  of  the 
moat,  and  of  witnessing  the  beautiful  rush 
of  water.  By  mean3  of  this  floodgate,  the 
moat  could  be  entirely  emptied,  if  necessary. 


148  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"Why,  the  water  is  lower  than  common, 
instead  of  being  higher!"  said  "Walter  to  him- 
self, as  he  kneeled  upon  the  bridge,  and  held 
down  his  lantern  as  low  as  he  could  reach. 
"I  can't  see  the  water  at  all!  Well,  I  de- 
clare, 'tis  every  drop  of  it  run  out,  for  there 
are  the  three  great  stones  at  the  bottom  that 
were  too  heavy  to  be  got  up  when  the  mud 
was  cleaned  out  last  winter.  How  angry  un- 
cle will  be !  It  must  have  been  that  tiresome 
boy,  Joe,  that  opened  the  floodgate  last  night, 
to  lower  the  water,  and  forgot  to  shut  it  again. 
He  had  no  business  to  touch  it  at  all,  for  he 
knows  that  is  my  job  always.  Now  I  must  go 
into  the  field  and  shut  it  clown  again.  'Tis 
lucky  I  came  out  to-night.  But  I'll  go  and 
fetch  the  gin  first." 

When  Walter  reached  the  barn  he  was  ob- 
liged to  crawl  on  his  hands  and  knees  through 
a  long,    narrow    passage,    between   sacks   of 


THE   INCENDIARY.  149 

corn,  over  which  some  trusses  of  straw  had 
been  placed.  At  the  further  end  of  this 
cavern,  as  it  may  be  called,  the  gin  was  set ; 
for  a  drain  ran  close  by,  which  was  a  favourite 
resort  of  the  long-tailed  game.  Thinking  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  take  the  lantern 
among  such  combustible  materials,  Walter 
had  left  it  outside,  on  the  floor  of  the  barn ; 
but  he  soon  found  the  gin  in  the  dark,  by 
feeling  about  with  a  short  stick,  and  ascer- 
tained that  a  rat  was  caught  fast  by  the  neck. 
Then  he  crawled  backwards  out  of  his  narrow 
den,  and  when  he  raised  himself  on  his  feet, 
to  his  utter  amazement,  he  was  in  total  dark- 
ness ! 

"  What  can  have  happened  to  the  lan- 
tern?" said  he,  feeling  about  for  it  with  his 
hands.  "I  am  sure  the  candle  was  not 
nearly  burnt  out.  Perhaps  I  left  the  barn- 
door open,  and  the  wind  may  have  blown 
13* 


150  THE   INCENDIARY. 

it  out,  for  I  know  one  of  the  sides  was 
broken." 

Here  the  poor  boy's  cogitations  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  violent  blow,  which  beat  his  hat 
down  over  his  eyes  ;  and  before  he  could  utter 
a  cry,  his  throat  was  clasped  by  a  pair  of  un- 
seen hands,  so  tightly  that  the  feeling  of  suffo- 
cation, joined  to  his  terror,  almost  deprived 
him  of  his  senses.  By  degrees  the  terrible 
hands  relaxed  a  little,  but  tightened  again  in- 
stantly, when  the  trembling  captive  attempted 
to  call  for  help ;  and  then  a  low,  growling 
voice,  which  once  heard  could  never  be  mis- 
taken, muttered  in  his  ear  : — 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  boy,  will  you  !  If  you 
make  that  noise  again  I'll  twist  your  head  off. 
What  business  have  you  got  out  here  at  this 
time  of  night,  I  should  like  to  know  ?•  Now, 
listen  to  me.  I  haven't  half  finished  the  job 
I  came  about  yet ;  and  if  vou  don't  make  a 


THE   INCENDIAKT.  151 

noise  and  disturb  the  house,  perhaps  I  mayn't 
think  it  worth  while  to  hurt  you ;  but  if  you 
do  give  me  any  more  of  your  noise,  I'll  tie 
you  hand  and  foot,  and  toss  you  into  the 
middle  of  the  little  bonfire  I  shall  light  up 
presently.  Now,  come  with  me,  and  I'll  show 
you  some  sport." 

Poor  Walter  was  then  half  led,  half 
dragged  out  of  the  barn,  into  the  rick-yard, 
into  a  narrow  passage  between  two  large 
haymows,  where  the  ruffian's  evil  designs 
were  soon  made  apparent.  Holding  the  boy 
by  the  collar  with  one  hand,  with  the  other 
he  opened  the  door  of  a  dark  lantern,  and 
began  to  complete  the  arrangements  which 
Walter's  unexpected  appearance  had  inter- 
rupted. He  had  already  raised  a  large  heap 
of  fagots  in  the  space  between  the  haymows, 
and  nothing  remained  to  be  done  but  to 
dispose  some  gunpowder  and  brimstone  among 


152  THE   INCENDIARY. 

the  straw,  at  the  bottom  of  the  pile,  in  a  way 
that  would  ensure  the  rapid  communication  of 
the  fire  to  every  part  of  it.  The  villain 
seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  this  part  of  his 
work,  and  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  carefully 
arranged  the  materials : 

"  Now,  farmer  Trimmer,  we  shall  soon  see ! 
So,  so,  this  was  the  hay  that  machine  helped 
to  make.  "Very  well !  people  say  they  have  a 
right  to  use  machines  if  they  like ;  and  I  have 
a  right  to  make  a  bonfire  if  I  like  ;  that's  all. 
Ha !  ha !  I  wonder  who  will  be  tired  of  the 
sport  first !  Well,  boy,  dost  understand  what 
these  fagots  are  for  ?" 

Walter  understood  it  all  perfectly.  Natu- 
rally of  a  very  courageous  disposition,  though, 
like  many  other  bold  spirits,  mild  and  tracta- 
ble in  his  behaviour  to  those  he  loved,  the 
boy  had  recovered  from  his  first  terrible 
fright,   and  he  watched   the   proceedings   of 


THE    INCENDIARY.  153 

his  ferocious  companion  with  extraordinary 
calmness  and  self-possession.  He  saw  what 
the  villain's  intentions  were,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  prevent  him  from  carrying  them  into 
effect,  if  possible. 

"  Uncle  has  taken  care  of  me,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  ever  since  I  was  a  baby.  He  never 
gave  me  a  cross  word  in  all  his  life.  He  and 
aunt  have  been  as  kind  to  me  as  if  I  was  their 
own  child,  and  nobody  shall  ever  say  that  I 
stood  by  and  saw  their  property  burnt  without 
trying  to  save  it." 

Then  he  said  to  the  incendiary,  who  still 
held  him  fast  by  the  collar,  while  he  completed 
the  arrangement  of  his  combustibles  ; 

"  Brindle,  if  you  will  only  go  away  quietly 
without  doing  any  mischief,  I  promise  I'll 
never  tell  anybody  that  I  have  seen  you  here 
to-night." 

The  boy's  clear,  childish  voice  contrasted 


154  THE   INCENDIARY. 

strangely  with  the  husky,  growling  throat  of 
Brindle,  who  replied : 

"  Ho  !  ho !  my  boy,  you'll  promise,  will 
you  ?  You  are  a  pretty  fellow !  you'll  pro- 
mise one  minute  and  tell  a  lie  the  next. 
I'm  too  cunning  a  bird  to  be  caught  with 
that  sort  of  nonsense.  Now,  listen  to  me : 
I  came  fifty  miles  to  do  this  job,  and  Til 
-finish  it  if  I  was  sure  you  would  not  tell. 
There,  I  think  that  will  do ;  I  shall  just  put 
a  light  to  that  bit  of  touch-paper,  and  then 
you  and  I  will  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill 
yonder,  and  enjoy  the  blaze.  Ha !  ha ! 
they  won't  find  much  water  in  the  pond  to 
put  it  out  with,  I  have  taken  care  of  that. 
But  mind  our  agreement,  young  fellow! 
If  you  keep  quiet,  I'll  let  you  go  home 
again  as  soon  as  the  mows  are  well  lighted 
up ;  and  then  you  may  tell  your  uncle  'twas 
I  did  the  job,   and  he  may  catch  me  if  he 


THE   INCENDIARY.  155 

can.  But  if  you  offer  to  call  out  before  I  give 
leave — you  understand  me.  D'ye  see  this 
little  bit  of  a  stick  ?  One  cry,  and  it  shall  be 
your  last !" 

The  boy  heard  him  in  silence,  and  saw  him 
light  the  touch-paper,  or  slowmatch,  which  ap- 
peared long  enough  to  burn  for  eight  or  ten 
minutes.  Walter  judged  that  it  would  last 
about  that  time,  for  he  had  lately  assisted  Par- 
sons in  the  delightful  employment  of  blasting 
with  gunpowder,  some  trunks  of  trees  for  fire- 
wood, and  he  remembered  the  length  of  the 
touchpaper  they  had  used  to  fire  the  train,  and 
the  time  it  had  burnt  before  the  explosion  took 
place. 

"Now,  then,"  said  the  incendiary,  "  'tis  all 
safe :  we  may  as  well  be  off  to  the  hill  and  en- 
joy the  sport  at  our  ease." 

"D'ye  think  the  mows  will  make  a  good 
blaze,  Brindle?"  inquired  Walter,  quietly. 


156  THE  INCENDIARY. 

"  A  good  blaze !  Ay,  ay ;  better  than 
ever  you  saw  on  Guy  Fawkes's  night.  Come, 
I  see  thee  art  a  sensible  lad.  'Tis  not  thy 
fault  that  the  mows  are  burnt,  and  so  thee  art 
determined  to  enjoy  the  sight  quietly.  Dost 
love  a  good  bonfire,  lad?" 

"Yes,  sometimes,"  replied  "Walter;  "we 
had  better  go  now,  hadn't  we  ?" 

The  ruffian,  Brindle,  though  generally 
cunning  and  wary  as  an  old  fox,  was  de- 
ceived by  the  boy's  quiet  and  fearless  man- 
ner; and  though  he  still  held  him  fast,  he 
followed  his  advice  in  taking,  what  Walter 
assured  him  was  a  nearer  way,  across  the 
fields  to  the  neighbouring  hill-top,  instead  of 
going  along  the  lane.  It  was  a  nearer  way, 
but  that  was  not  Walter's  motive  for  propos- 
ing it ;  for  though  they  would  not  pass  quite 
so  near  the  house  as  if  they  had  followed 
the   lane,  he   knew   that   they   should  be   on 


THE   INCENDIARY.  157 

that  side  in  which  were  the  windows  of  his  un- 
cle's, and  of  all  the  inhabited  bedrooms,  except 
his  own. 

When  they  were  opposite  that  side  of  the 
house,  Walter  stopped  his  companion,  and 
said  to  him  in  a  whisper : 

"  Brindle,  I  almost  wish  now  that  you 
wouldn't  burn  the  mows.  I  know  they  will 
make  a  fine  blaze,  but  uncle  has  been  kind  to 
me,  and  the  hay  is  worth  a  great  deal  of 
money.  So  if  you  will  let  me  go  back  and 
take  the  fire  away,  I'll  never  tell  anybody 
who  put  the  fagots  there,  as  long  as  I  live. 
I  never  told  a  lie  in  my  life,  and  I  wouldn't 
tell  a  lie  to  you  now,  to  save  all  the  hay  in  the 
country  from  being  burnt." 

"Come  on,"  said  Brindle,  grasping  his 
prisoner's  throat,  for  his  suspicions  were  some- 
what aroused.     "  Come  on,  directly,  and  hold 

your  tongue,  or  I'll  strangle  you  !" 
14 


158  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  then!"  said  the 
boy.  Then,  with  a  stout  pocket-knife  which 
he  had  taken  out  and  opened  unperceived,  he 
gashed  the  back  of  the  villain's  hand  to  the 
bone,  and  as  the  pain  obliged  him  to  relax  his 
grasp,  Walter  shouted  with  all  his  strength, 
"  Help  !  help !  uncle  James  !  Fire  !  Help  !" 

The  next  instant  a  heavy  blow  from  the  in- 
cendiary's bludgeon  laid  him  bleeding  and 
senseless  on  the  ground. 


THE  INCENDIARY.  159 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  What  noise  was  that  ?"  said  the  farmer  to 
his  wife  ;  "  didst  hear  a  noise,  or  was  I  dream- 
ing about  it?" 

"  I  dare  say  thee  wast,  for  I  heard  nothing. 
The  cock  crowing,  likely  enough." 

"  The  farmer  thought  it  very  likely  was 
the  cock,  and  he  was  on  the  point  of  closing 
his  sleepy  eyes  again,  when  a  faint  gleam  of 
light  shone  across  the  window  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"Wife,  there's  a  flash  of  lightning!  We 
are  going  to  have  a  thunder-storm." 

"  Oh,  then,  do  get  up  and  shut  the  shutters, 
or  I  shall  be  frightened  to  death." 


-160  THE    INCENDIARY. 

Mr.  Trimmer  arose  to  comply  with  his 
dame's  request;  but  before  he  closed  the 
shutters  he  stood  at  the  window  for  a  little 
while,  waiting  for  the  next  flash,  that  he 
might  see  in  what  quarter  the  storm  was 
gathering. 

"  The  night  is  as  dark  as  pitch,"  said  he, 
opening  the  window  and  putting  his  head  out ; 
"but  it  don't  seem  like  a  storm,  and  I  can 
hear  no  thunder." 

"  Now,  my  good  man,  do  shut  the  window, 
for  we  shall  have  a  storm,  I  am  sure.  I  can 
smell  the  lightning  already." 

"Well,  I  never  could  smell  lightning,  though 
I  have  heard  other  people  say  they  could. 
But  I  declare,  I  can  smell  something  now, 
though  I've  got  a  bad  cold  in  my  head.  'Tis 
like  a  brimstone  match,  exactly." 
-  "Yes,  that's  the  sort  of  smell.  I  have 
smelt  it  fifty  times.     There,  now,  do  shut  the 


THE   INCENDIARY.  161 

window,  and  the  shutters  too,  as  close  as  you 

can." 

"Silence!"    said  the    farmer,   in    a   half 

whisper,  but  in  a  tone  which  the   practised 

ears  of  Mrs.  Trimmer  understood  at  once  as 

signifying  that  he  was  in  earnest,  and  would 

be  obeyed.     After  a  few  seconds,  he  added, 

as  he  began  to  dress  himself  in  the  utmost 

haste,     "  Don't    be     frightened,    Mary,    but 

there's  mischief  abroad  !     I  heard   the   gate 

at   the   end   of   the   Long   patch   fall   to,   as 

plainly  as  possible.     I  am  sure  of  it,   for   I 

should  know  the  sound  of  that  gate  among  a 

thousand.     Directly  after  I  heard  somebody 

running,  as  if  for  his  life,  over  the  new-laid 

stones   in   the   lane.     There's    some    villany 

stirring.     Ah !  there  it  is,  sure  enough.    I  see 

the   light   now!       There's   a   fire   somewhere 

behind  the  house ;  but,    by  the   blessing   of 

God,  we  shall  be  in  time  to  put  it  out  before  it 
14* 


162  THE   INCENDIAEY. 

has  made  much  head.  So,  my  good  dame,  don't 
be  frightened,  but  get  up  and  call  everybody. 
— Villains,  I'll  be  amongst  ye  in  a  minute  !" 

The  stout  farmer  made  such  a  fearful  clat- 
ter, as  he  half  ran,  half  jumped  down  the  un- 
carpeted  stairs,  that  everybody  in  the  house 
was  thoroughly  aroused,  long  before  the  trem- 
bling Mrs.  Trimmer  could  knock  at  their 
doors.  I  looked  into  Walter's  room,  as  I 
passed,  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  disturbance, 
for  the  poor  woman  was  unable  to  give  me 
much  information  on  the  subject ;  but  she  sat 
on  the  stairs  sobbing  and  wringing  her  hands, 
and  exclaiming, 

"  Ah !  I  told  ye  so  !  I  told  ye  so  !  The 
results  of  machine?*?/,  indeed !  here  they  are 
come  upon  us  at  last,  for  we  shall  all 
be  murdered,  or  burnt  alive !  I  told  ye 
all,  that  something  bad  would  come  of  it,  and 
nobody  would  believe  me  !" 


THE   INCENDIARY.  163 

Finding  that  Walter  was  not  in  his  room,  I 
went  down  into  the  kitchen,  and  then,  through 
the  open  door,  the  cause  of  the  alarm  was  ap- 
parent. A  column  of  dense  smoke,  illumin- 
ated by  the  fire  underneath,  was  rising  up 
among  the  mows. 

I  hastened  into  the  yard,  and  found  Mr. 
Trimmer  and  Parsons,  with  hayforks  and 
rakes,  throwing  out  the  blazing  straw  and 
fagots  from  the  narrow  space  where  the  pile 
was  laid.  For  some  minutes  the  issue  was 
very  doubtful.  One  of  the  mows  had  already 
kindled,  and  nothing  but  the  greatest  exer- 
tions, on  the  part  of  the  farmer  and  his  trusty 
foreman  prevented  the  fire  from  spreading. 
However,  this  was  at  last  accomplished,  by 
tearing  down  the  burning  hay  with  rakes, 
till  at  length  the  danger  was  past,  and  all  the 
flaming  materials  were  collected  together  in  a 
heap  in  an  open  part  of  the  yard. 


164  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"  Now  God  be  praised  for  all  his  mercies  I" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Trimmer,  panting  with  heat 
and  exertion.  "  Five  minutes  later,  only  five 
minutes  later,  and  nothing  could  have  saved 
the  mows  !  And  if  the  mows  had  burnt,  the 
barns,  and  every  thing  else  in  the  yard,  would, 
most  likely,  have  gone  too,  with  the  wind  this 
way.  Run  in,  Parsons,  and  tell  your  mistress 
'tis  all  safe.  I  can't  leave  this  heap  till  the 
flame  is  gone  down  a  little,  for  the  villains 
have  taken  care  not  to  leave  us  a  drop  of 
water  to  put  it  out  with." 

I  asked  Mr.  Trimmer  if  he  knew  where  Wal- 
ter was. 

"  In  the  house,  I  believe,  sir,"  replied  he, 
"twith  his  aunt.  I  called  out  to  him  as  I 
passed  his  door,  and  told  him  to  stay  and  take 
care  of  her,  for  she  is  almost  out  of  her  senses 
with  fright.  But  did  ye  ever  see  anybody  iv 
such  a  mess  as  I  am,  Mr.  Ernest." 


THE  INCENDIARY.  165 

I  now,  for  the  first  time,  observed  that  he 
was  plastered  with  black  mud  from  head  to 
foot.  He  said  that,  as  he  crossed  the  bridge 
he  had  plunged  a  milk-pail  down  hastily, 
intending  to  bring  it  up  full  of  water :  but 
not  meeting  with  the  resistance  he  had  ex- 
pected, he  lost  his  balance,  and  fell  over  into 
the  muddy  bed'  of  the  moat :  and  with  this 
most  convincing  proof  that  the  water  had  been 
drawn  off,  the  poor  farmer  first  became  aware 
of  the  sly  trick  that  had  been  played  him. 

Scarcely  had  we  begun  to  recover  a  lit- 
tle from  our  fright,  when  we  were  thrown 
into  a  fresh  consternation,  by  finding  that 
Walter  had  not  been  seen  since  the  alarm 
of  fire  was  first  given.  When  every  part 
of  the  premises  had  been  searched  with- 
out success,  and  poor  Mrs.  Trimmer  and  her 
maids  were  uttering  lamentable  cries  of  dis- 
tress, the  farmer  beckoned  me  aside. 


166  THE   INCENDIARY. 

"I  needn't  ask  what  you  think  of  this 
terrible  business,  sir,"  said  he;  "I  can  see 
it  all  in  your  face,  plainly  enough.  I  re- 
member now  that  I  found  the  kitchen  door 
unbolted.  The  poor  boy  must  have  run  out 
into  the  yard,  before  any  of  us,  and  the 
villains  have  murdered  him !  Oh  !  if  it  had 
pleased  God  that  every  stick  and  straw  be- 
longing to  me  had  been  burnt  to  ashes,  ra- 
ther than  that  boy  should  have  come  to 
harm,  I  should  have  been  a  happy  man! 
I  know  I  must  not  complain,  but  I  loved 
Walter!  we  all  loved  him;  nobody  could 
help  loving  him !  Now  I  must  ride  off  to 
the  town,  to  give  information  to  the  magis- 
trates ;  though  what  they  can  do,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know." 

I  went  with  Mr.  Trimmer  into  the  stable, 
to  hold  the  lantern  for  him  while  he  saddled 
his  horse,  for  Parsons  had  been  despatched 


THE  INCENDIARY.  167 

with  the  bad  tidings  to  the  nearest  neigh- 
bour. The  farmer  was  already  in  the  saddle, 
when  a  piercing  shriek  of  distress  reached  our 
ears,  from  the  house. 

"They  have  found  him,"  said  he,  hastily 
dismounting  from  his  horse.  "  They  have 
found  the  boy,  and  he  is  (Lead  I" 

As  we  entered  the  kitchen,  Parsons  was  en- 
deavouring to  comfort  his  mistress.  "He's  not 
dead,  missis,  I  am  sure  ;  though  I'm  afraid 
he's  hurt  badly  enough ;  but  he  isn't  dead,  for 
he  keeps  on  groaning  and  moaning;  and 
that's  how  'twas  I  found  him  as  I  went  across 
the  fields.  I  didn't  like  to  take"  him  up  in  my 
arms,  for  fear  I  should  hurt  him,  for  perhaps 
some  of  his  poor  bones  are  broken;  but  if 
master  likes,  we  two  can  carry  him  easily  in 
this  great  arm-chair." 

When  poor  Walter  was  brought  into  the 
house,  I  felt  convinced  that  the  terrible  wound 


168  THE   INCENDIARY. 

he  had  received  on  his  head  would  prove  fatal 
in  a  few  hours ;  for  he  was  perfectly  insensi- 
ble, and,  though  he  still  breathed,  it  was  in  a 
heavy,  laborious  manner,  and  with  a  sound  re- 
sembling snoring ;  a  fearful  token  that  the 
brain  was  injured.  Mr.  Trimmer  galloped  off 
for  a  surgeon,  who,  when  he  came,  either 
could  not  or  would  not  give  us  any  consola- 
tion ;  for  he  was  one  of  those  brutal  practi- 
tioners who  disgrace  their  profession,  by  their 
rude  and  ungentlemanly  behaviour,  and  who 
seem  to  think  that,  because  a  late  celebrated 
surgeon  (the  letters  of  whose  name  most  for- 
tunately can  be  transposed  into  "  Johnny  the 
Bear")  was  both  surly  and  skilful,  therefore 
it  is  only  necessary  for  them  to  ape  his  rough, 
uncivil  manners,  to  make  their  patients  be- 
lieve that  they  possess  his  talents  also.  How- 
ever, this  bear,  though  he  would  not  answer 
any  questions,    appeared  to  take  great  pains 


THE   INCENDIARY.  169 

in  examining  and  dressing  the  poor  boy's 
wound ;  and  when  that  operation  was  finished, 
he  condescended  to  swallow  a  very  potent 
draught  of  brandy  and  water.  Thinking  that 
this  might  have  the  effect  of  molifying  his 
surly  temper  a  little,  Mrs.  Trimmer  ventured 
to  inquire  if  he  thought  the  boy  would  re- 
cover. 

" Recover!"  said  he,  "what  in  the  name  of 
nonsense  does  the  woman  mean  by  asking  such 
a  stupid  question  as  that?  How  can  I  tell 
whether  the  boy  will  recover  or  not?  D'ye 
think  that  his  skull  is  made  of  glass,  that  I 
can  look  into  his  head  and  see  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  the  brain.  The  boy  has  had  a  terri- 
ble blow,  I  tell  you,  and  nobody  can  say  what 
the  consequences  may  be.  Now,  my  good 
man,  is  my  horse  ready  ?" 

It  was  more  than  three  weeks  before  time 

solved  the  question,  which  the  surly  doctor 
15 


170  THE  INCENDIAET. 

could  not  answer.  By  careful  nursing,  and, 
to  give  the  bear  his  due,  by  very  skilful  sur- 
gical treatment,  Walter  did  recover,  though  it 
was  many  months  before  he  was  restored  to 
his  former  health  and  strength.  He  was  in- 
capable of  answering  any  question  for  several 
days  after  the  night  of  the  fire,  therefore  Brin- 
dle  had  time  to  escape  to  a  great  distance,  be- 
fore it  was  known  that  he  was  the  culprit, 
though  his  conduct  in  the  hayfield  made  us 
strongly  suspect  that  he  was  concerned  in  the 
outrage.  But  the  man's  extraordinary  mal- 
formation of  face  and  body  proved  his  ruin. 
Having  some  little  talent  in  drawing  like- 
nesses, I  made  from  memory  a  sketch  of  the 
incendiary,  which  was  printed  at  the  head 
of  the  handbills  offering  a  reward  for  his 
apprehension ;  and  though  it  certainly  did 
not  merit  the  praise  bestowed  upon  it  by  Wal- 
ter, who  called  it  "  a  most  beautiful  likeness 


THE   INCENDIARY.  171 

of  Polyphemus,"  it  proved  sufficiently  correct 
for  the  purpose.  You  might  have  seen  an 
outline  of  Brindle's  long,  straggling  limbs  and 
shortened  body,  pasted  on  the  walls  of  al- 
most every  town  and  village  in  the  south  of 
England.  "'Twill  find  him  out!"  said  the 
farmer.  "We  shall  catch  him,  sooner  or 
later,  if  he  is  above  ground." 

It  did  find  him  out,  though  he  was  not  above 
ground;  for,  after  remaining  concealed  for 
more  than  six  months,  Brindle  was  at  length 
apprehended,  many  fathoms  beneath  the  sur- 
face, working  in  a  mine  in  Cornwall.  At 
his  trial,  Walter  was  the  principal  evidence 
against  him ;  but  his  muttered  threat  of  ven- 
geance in  the  hayfield  was  not  forgotten. 
The  man  had  found  the  means  of  engaging 
the  services  of  a  lawyer,  who  did  his  best 
for  his  client,  and  strove,  by  a  bullying  cross- 
examination,  to  weaken  Walter's   testimony. 


172  THE   INCENDIARY. 

As  easily  might  he  have  overturned  a  church, 
by  pushing  against  it  with  his  shoulder. 
Confident  in  truth  and  innocence,  the  boy 
remained  firm  and  undaunted,  and  the  most 
vexatious  and  intricate  questionings  of  his 
adversary  could  not  beguile  him  into  saying  a 
single  word  more  than  the  truth  ;  consequently 
he  was  in  no  danger  of  contradicting  himself 
in  his  answers.  I  believe  the  jury  had  al- 
most decided  upon  their  verdict  before  the 
trial  was  half  over,  and  Brindle  was  con- 
demned to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  days  in 
banishment. 

As  I  am  writing  the  last  pages  of  this  little 
history,  the  delicious  fragrance  of  new-made 
hay,  from  the  adjoining  meadow,  breathes  in 
through  the  open  window,  and  reminds  me 
that  a  year  has  passed  away  since  the  gath- 
ering in  of  the  last  crop,  which,  but  for  Wal- 
ter's courage  and   letermination,  would  have 


THE  INCENDIARY.  173 

been  consumed  by  the  revengeful  incendiary's 
torch.  Occasionally,  as  it  approaches  the 
house,  I  can  hear  the  whirring  noise  of  the 
haymaking  machine ;  for  the  farmer,  not  de- 
terred by  the  disasters  of  last  year,  is  again 
availing  himself  of  the  services  of  this  useful 
invention.  He  is  even  seriously  contemplat- 
ing the  erection  of  a  thrashing-machine. 

"All  the  incendiary  villains  in  the  world," 
he  says,  "shall  not  frighten  me  from  doing 
a  thing,  when  I  know  that  it  is  right  and  pro- 
per to  be  done.  However,  we  needn't  put 
ourselves  into  a  fidget  about  it,  for  we  have 
heard  nothing  of  these  nightly  fires  for  some 
time,  so  let  us  hope  that  the  people  are  get- 
ting wiser  or  better." 

Brindle's  knock-down  argument,  although  it 
very  nearly  deprived  Walter  of  his  life,  has 
not  altered  his  opinions  in  the  least.  I  be- 
lieve he  knows  a  great  part  of  "  The  .Results 
15* 


174  THE   INCENDIARY. 

of  Machinery"  by  heart;  and  his  uncle  often 
appeals  to  nephew  Walter,  when  he  finds  him- 
self likely  to  be  overcome  in  his  discussions 
with  his  brother  farmers  on  the  subject. 

As  for  my  kind  hostess,  she  still  calls  her- 
self a  determined  enemy  to  the  use  of  ma- 
chinery ;  though,  with  great  good  humour,  she 
soon  becomes  partially  reconciled  to  any  im- 
provements of  that  nature  which  her  husband 
introduces.  The  subject  is  still  frequently 
discussed  by  the  members  of  the  Trimmer 
family ;  but  if  differences  of  opinion  were  al- 
ways maintained  with  their  moderation  and 
good  temper,  the  world  we  live  in  would  be  a 
quiet  resting-place  indeed. 


MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 


175 


MARGARET  BEATON'S  VICTORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   RESCUE. 


A  STORM !  a  very  terrible  storm  indeed.  A 
shipwreck  !  A  noble  vessel,  after  a  prosper- 
ous voyage  from  the  East,  with  a  valuable 
lading,  and  a  still  more  precious  freightage  of 
three-score  human  beings — a  ship,  upon  whose 
construction  the  most  skilful  builder  had 
spared  no  pains  nor  expense,  to  ensure  speed 
and  safety,  is  cast  upon  the  shores  of  her  na- 
tive island;  and  no  earthly  power  can  save 
from  present  destruction,  this,  the  most  mag- 
nificent of  the  works  of  man's  hands.     The 

instant  the  ill-fated  ship   touches   the   rocks 

177 


178         MARGARET   SEATOlTS  VICTORY. 

the  shrouds  snap  like  packthread,  and  the 
lofty  masts  fall  over  the  side,  carrying  with 
them  yards,  and  sails,  and  rigging.  And  now 
the  terrible  power  of  the  waves  is  manifested. 
The  hull  is  lifted  up  on  their  crests,  and 
dashed  again  upon  the  rocks  with  irresistible 
violence — torrents  of  water  pour  over  the 
decks,  sweeping  away  men,  and  boats,  and 
heavy  iron  guns.  Another  lift  and  fall 
on  the  rocks,  and  the  strong  oaken  timbers 
and  planks  are  rent  asunder,  the  deck  is 
torn  up,  and  in  a  very  short  time  nothing 
but  disjointed  fragments  remain  of  the 
noble  ship,  "  The  Margaret  Seaton,  of  Lon- 
don." 

Alas  for  the  crew  and  passengers !  All  lost 
save  one;  and  that  one,  the  weakest  and 
most  helpless  being  in  the  ship,  escaped 
to  land  almost  by  a  miracle.  For  when  the 
hardy  sailor  and  practised  swimmer  appeared 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  179 

to  have  no  chance  of  prolonging  his  exis- 
tence for  many  minutes,  in  the  fearful  surf 
that  broke  upon  the  shore,  the  mysterious 
interference  of  Providence  was  clearly  shown 
in  the  preservation  of  this  only  survivor,  a 
poor  little  helpless  child,  not  five  years  of 
age. 

And  this  was  the  manner  of  its  preserva- 
tion. When  the  ship  struck,  many  of  the 
crew  endeavoured  to  save  themselves  by  cling- 
ing to  planks  and  loose  spars,  and  some 
of  the  passengers,  who  were  provided  with 
life-preservers,  threw  themselves  overboard, 
trusting  to  reach  the  shore  by  these  means. 
Vain  hope !  The  planks  and  life-preservers 
indeed  kept  the  unfortunate  creatures  from 
sinking,  but  their  existence  was  only  pro- 
longed for  a  few  minutes,  till  they  reached 
the  rocky  shore,  upon  which  they  were 
cast  with  violence,    and  miserably  perished. 


180         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

It  was  about  mid-day  when  the  catastrophe 
happened,  and  as  the  ship  had  been  seen 
making  signals  of  distress  for  some  time 
before  she  struck,  many  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  neighbourhood  were  assembled  on  the 
shore,  though  there  appeared  but  little  chance 
of  rendering  any  assistance ;  for  not  only 
was  this  part  of  the  coast  so  rocky  that 
no  boats  were  kept  for  several  miles,  but  even 
if  there  had  been  boats,  and  expert  sailors 
to  manage  them,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  have  reached  the  wreck  against  that 
terrible  gale  and  sea.  So  all  that  the  spec- 
tators could  do  was  to  station  themselves, 
with  ropes  in  their  hands,  in  the  most  conve- 
nient places  they  could  find,  in  the  hopes  of 
rescuing  any  drowning  wretch  whom'the  waves 
might  cast  within  reach. 

It  chanced  that  two   young  farmers,   who 

were   brothers,    (there   were    no    seamen    or 
I 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  181 

fishermen  on  that  part  of  the  coast,)  had 
placed  themselves,  one  on  each  side  of  a 
small  creek  or  deep  fissure  in  the  rocks,  at 
the  mouth  of  which  was  a  low,  flat  rock,  and 
over  this  obstruction  the  sea  would  occasion- 
ally break  furiously,  filling  the  little  bay 
within.  After  one  of  these  violent  eruptions, 
which  took  place  at  pretty  regular  intervals 
of  a  minute  or  more  between  each,  the  young 
men  perceived,  struggling  in  the  foaming 
water  of  the  creek,  a  man,  supported  by  a 
short,  thick  piece  of  bamboo-cane,  fastened 
to  his  shoulders,  and  holding  in  his  arms  a 
very  young  and  apparently  lifeless  child. 
Both  were  nearly  naked,  for  clothes  would 
have. been  no  protection,  but  a  great  incum- 
brance to  them,  during  their  perilous  voyage. 
Of  course  not  a  moment  was  lost-  in  attempt- 
ing their  rescue,  and  a  rope  was  skilfully 
thrown,  the  end  of  which  fell  over  Hhe  man's 

16  % 


182          MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY. 

shoulders.  But  instead  of  immediately  seiz- 
ing it,  appearing  more  anxious  for  the  child's 
safety  than  for  his  own,  he  suffered  a  few 
seconds  to  elapse  while  he  raised  his  precious 
burden  higher .  out  of  the  water,  and,  alas ! 
this  short  delay  was  fatal;  for  at  this  junc- 
ture, a  giant  wave  overtopped  the  rock  at  the 
entrance  of  the  little  basin,  the  almost  rescued 
swimmer  was  carried  out  of  reach  of  the  rope, 
and  for  some  time  was  invisible  to  the  young 
men,  who  narrowly  escaped  being  drowned,  or 
dashed  to  pieces  themselves,  in  the  watery 
turmoil  that  ensued. 

When  this  had  a  little  subsided,  the  ob- 
ject of  their  eager  search  was  again  disco- 
vered, near  the  upper  end  of  the  creek,  hold- 
ing up  the  child,  which  he  still  retained,  and 
exclaiming,  "  Save  her!  save  my  child,  for 
mercy's  sake  !" 

Again  the  rope  was  cast  over  him;  but  now 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  183 

it  was  evident  that  lie  had  been  so  much 
injured  by  beating  against  the  rocks,  as  he 
was  washed  up  the  creek,  that  he  had  no 
power  to  save  himself.  Blood  was  flowing 
from  his  head,  and  one  arm  appeared  quite 
useless,  but  with  the  other  he  still  endeavoured 
to  keep  his  child  above  water.  His  lips 
moved,  but  he  had  no  longer  strength  to  utter 
a  sound,  and  he  cast  a  look  of  most  earnest 
entreaty  upon  the  young  men.  The  mute 
appeal  was  successful ;  and  though  but  an 
indifferent  swimmer,  James  Winter,  the 
elder,  fastened  a  rope  round  his  middle,  and 
giving  the  other  end  to  his  brother  he  boldly 
leaped  into  the  water.  He  reached  the 
father  and  child,  and  all  three  were  drawn  to 
the  shore,  and  landed  upon  the  rocks,  just  in 
time  to  escape  the  fury  of  another  fearful 
deluge,  which  burst  into  the  little  basin,  and 
Would  probably  have  been  the  destruction  of 


184 

the  whole  party,  had  they  been  exposed  to  its 
violence. 

But  how  were  the  feeling  hearts  of  the 
brothers  grieved,  when  they  perceived  the 
dreadful  condition  of  the  unfortunate  man 
they  had  rescued.  Not  only  was  his  arm 
terribly  shattered,  but  he  had  sustained  a 
very  severe  injury  in  the  side,  so  deep  and 
extensive  that  it  required  no  surgical  know- 
ledge to  convince  the  Winters  that  human 
skill  could  not  prolong  his  life  for  many 
minutes.  In  fact,  he  was  already  dying,  and 
a  slight  change  of  position,  occasioned  by 
his  head  and  shoulders  being  gently  raised 
proved  immediately  fatal.  Life  had  fled  past 
recall. 

"It  is  all  over  with  him!"  exclaimed 
James.  "May  Heaven  have  mercy  upon  his 
soul !  Get  some  help,  Joe,  and  carry  the 
body  further  up,   for  the  tide   is   coming  in 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  185 

amain.  We  can  do  nothing  more  for  Mm; 
and  as  for  this  poor  little  innocent,  I'm 
afraid  she  is  gone  too.  But  who  can  tell? 
I  heard  Dr.  Forrester  say  the  other  day, 
that  people  may  be  brought  round  again 
long  after  they  seem  stone  dead.  Why 
she  hasn't  got  a  scratch,  or  a  bruise  up- 
on her  body!  By  God's  mercy  her  fa- 
ther's arms  have  protected  her,  though  it 
does  seem  almost  a  miracle,  to  be  sure. 
She  must  be  one  of  Heaven's  pet  lambs, 
as  mother  says;  and  so  you  may  depend 
upon  it,  Joe,  her  life  is  in  her  yet.  Give 
me  your  jacket,  it  is  dryer  than  mine; 
I'll  wrap  her  up  in  it,  and  carry  her  at 
once  to  Dr.  Forrester's :  his  house  is  nearer 
than  ours  by  a  good  bit,  and  if  anybody  can 
bring  her  life  back  again  he  can." 

"Yes,    to    be    sure,"    replied    Joe,    "he 

can  if  he   likes ;  but  now  I  think  of  it,  you 
16* 


186  MARGARET   SEATON's   VICTOEY. 

won't  be  able  to  see  him.  He  is  in  one  • 
of  his  sullen  fits.  Thinking  that  we  might 
want  his  help,  I  called  as  I  came  down,  to 
tell  him  what  was  going  on,  and  old  Mrs. 
Walters  said  she  didn't  dare  to  go  into  his 
room,  for  he  had  been  in  a  fine  way  ever 
since  yesterday,  when  some  letters  were 
brought  to  him.  Better  take  the  child  up  to 
mother,  and  see  what  she  can  do  for  it." 

"No — I'll  go  to  the  doctor's.  Nothing 
but  his  clever  ways  can  save  it.  I  shall  be 
haunted  with  that  poor  fellow's  dying  look 
all  my  days,  if  I  don't  do  my  best  for  his 
child.  I'll  go  to  Dr.  Forrester,  Joe,  and 
I  will  see  him.  If  Mrs.  Walters  don't 
choose  to  speak  to  him,  I'll  kick  his  door  open. 
Half-crazy  as  he  is,  his  heart  is  in  the  right 
place,  as  he  showed  the  other  day  about  Simp- 
son's child.  Come,  my  pretty  dear,  Heaven 
send  thee  a  better  nurse  than  I  am!" 


MARGARET   SEATON's   VICTORY.  18T 

So  saying,  the  benevolent  young  man  care- 
fully covered  up  the  child,  and  hastened  to 
Dr.  Forrester's  house,  which  was  situated  at 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  water's 
side. 


188         MARGARET  SEATON's    VICTORY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Who  was  this  half-crazy  Dr.  Forrester  ? — ■ 
An  oddity,  an  eccentric  being  about  whom  all 
the  gossips  in  the  neighbourhood  were  com- 
pletely puzzled,  in  their  attempts  to  decide 
upon  his  character. 

Just  twelve  months  before  our  tale  begins, 
he  had  come  to  the  village  in  a  post-chaise, 
from  the  county-town,  distant  nearly  twenty 
miles,  and  for  a  few  days  had  taken  up  his 
quarters  at  the  little  inn.  Some  weeks  before 
his  arrival,  the  sudden  death  of  the  proprietor, 
an  old  major  in  the  army,  had  left  vacant  a 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  189 

pretty  little  cottage,  comfortably  furnished, 
and  exactly  in  a  condition,  as  the  advertise- 
ment, with  a  very  unusual  regard  for  truth, 
described  it,  "  to  be  entered  upon  immediate- 
ly." Even  the  old  housekeeper  and  the  cook 
of  the  late  major  remained  in  the  house,  seem- 
ing to  consider  themselves  as  much  entitled 
to  the  name  of  fixtures  as  the  doors  and  win- 
dow-shutters, and  truly  these  most  respect- 
able-looking old  ladies  did  not  appear  to 
be  the  least  desirable  part  of  the  establish- 
ment. 

Whether  this  consideration  influenced  Dr. 
Forrester  in  his  decision  I  cannot  say;  but 
he  looked  at  the  house,  asked  a  few  ques- 
tions of  Mrs.  Walters,  and  immediately  went 
back  to  the  town.  Next  day  he  returned 
with  the  attorney,  who  had  the  charge  of 
the  property,  and  formally  took  possession 
of  "  The  Last  Halt,"  as  the  poor  old  soldiei- 


190          MARGARET    SEATON'S   VICTORY. 

had  whimsically  named  his  cottage ;  and  such 
it  had  proved  to  him,  after  a  very  short 
enjoyment  of  ease  and  retirement.  The  two 
domestics  were  included  in  the  transfer  ©f  the 
property,  Dr.  Forrester,  unsolicited,  giving 
them  additional  wages;  for  it  was  soon  dis- 
covered by  every  person  who  had  rendered 
him  the  smallest  service,  that  whatever  his 
character  might  prove  to  be,  stinginess  was 
not  one  of  his  faults.  It  was  equally  certain 
that  whatever  misfortunes  had  fallen  to  his 
lot,  poverty  was  not  among  them.  Alas !  it 
soon  appeared  that  poverty  would  have  been 
a  light  affliction,  compared  to  the  heavy 
burden  which  oppressed  him;  for  his  whole 
manner  and  appearance  testified  that  some 
terrible  remembrance  preyed  upon  his  spirit, 
and  threatened,  by  its  consuming  fire,  to 
destroy  both  mind  and  body.  Hidden  sorrow 
had   produced    the  usual   melancholy   effects 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  191 

apon  a  fine  figure  and  a  very  noble  coun- 
tenance, both  of  which  were  wasted,  and,  I 
might  almost  say,  appeared  scorched,  by  its 
influence ;  and  though  the  mind  had  not 
suffered  in  an  equal  degree,  there  were 
times  when  reason  and  insanity  held  nearly 
equal  shares  in  the  government  of  his  ac- 
tions. 

At  such  times  the  unfortunate  young  man 
would  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  for  seve- 
ral days  together,  neither  eating  nor  drink- 
ing; and  when  the  housekeeper  would  knock 
at  his  door,  and  timidly  inquire  if  he  wanted 
any  thing,  a  savage  "Begone,  woman!  don't 
torture  me  with  your  nonsense,"  was  the 
mildest  reply  she  would  receive.  So  the 
two  old  women,  though  terribly  frightened 
at  first,  became  accustomed  to  these  fits 
after  a  little  while,  and  wisely  left  their 
master   undisturbed,    saying   to    each    other, 


192         MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY. 

"His  evil  spirit  has  hirn  now;  we  must  wait 
till  it  pleases  Heaven  to  drive  it  away." 

In  the  intervals  between  these  overwhelm- 
ing visitations,  Forrester,  though  almost  al- 
ways moody  and  wayward  in  his  temper, 
would  employ  part  of  his  time  most  usefully, 
in  visiting  the  sick  poor  in  the  neighbour- 
hood; and  his  assistance  in  this  way  was 
the  more  valuable,  as  the  parish  doctor  lived 
five  miles  off,  and  was  both  inattentive  to 
his  duties  and  sadly  deficient  in  skill.  Our 
melancholy  friend's  first  patient  was  a  poor 
man,  in  whose  cottage  he  had  taken  refuge 
from  a  shower.  He  was  confined  to  his  bed 
by  ague,  and  his  visitor  naturally  inquired 
what  medicines  he  was  taking.  His  wife 
showed  him  a  bottle  containing  a  draught, 
and  said  that  the  parish  doctor  had  sent  it. 
"Blockhead  !"  exclaimed  Forrester,  when  he 
had  tasted  the  medicine;   "throw  that  trash 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  193 

away,  and  send  up  to  my  house  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  your  husband  shall  be  able  to  work  in 
six  days. 

The  man  recovered  within  that  time,  and 
the  fame  of  "the  crazy  doctor,"  which  appel- 
lation he  soon  obtained,  was  spread  abroad, 
so  that  many  others  applied  for,  and  received 
relief  for  divers  maladies.  Now  as  Dr. 
Forrester  really  possessed  unusual  skill,  both 
as  a  physician  and  surgeon,  and  as  no  prac- 
titioner of  even  moderate  abilities  had  re- 
sided in  the  neighbourhood  for  some  years, 
his  cures  seemed  nearly  miraculous  in  the 
eyes  of  the  simple  inhabitants,  who  almost 
believed  that  he  kept  the  keys  of  life  and 
death  in  the  little  room  which  contained  his 
medicines  and  instruments. 

But   notwithstanding   his  wonderful  cures, 

this    strange    young    man   was    much    more 

feared  than  loved,  for  his  manner  was  almost 
17 


194  -     MARGARET   SEATON  S  VICTORY. 

invariably  distant,  and  even  surly,  especially 
when  he  fancied  that  his  assistance  had  been 
asked  when  there  was  little  or  no  oocasion  for 
it.  A  still  worse  offence  was  the  unfortunate 
offer  of  a  fee  from  the  wife  of  a  respectable 
farmer,  who  had  benefited  by  his  advice.  The 
experiment  was  never  repeated,  for  the  terri- 
fied woman  declared  that  she  was  convinced  it 
was  her  sex  alone  that  saved  her  from  a  beat- 
ing. 

There  had,  however,  been  one  or  two  occa- 
sions when  Forrester  had  gained  somewhat  up- 
on the  affections  of  his  poor  patients,  by  his 
great  attention,  and  almost  kindness,  in  cases 
of  severe  and  dangerous  illness ;  and  an  in- 
stance of  this  kind  had  occurred  a  short  time 
before  the  shipwreck  of  the  "Margaret  Sea- 
ton,"  when  a  little  boy,  named  Simpson,  had 
-met  with  a  terrible  injury,  by  falling  down 
over  the  cliffs,  while  searching  for  sea-birds' 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY  195 

eggs.  Forrester,  who  was  in  an  unusually 
sane  mood  just  then,  was  so  much  interested 
in  the  case,  that  he  sat  up  with  the  poor  child 
two  nights,  and  supplied  him  with  every  neces- 
sary, till  he  recovered.  It  was  his  kindness  to 
this  child  that  had  convinced  James  Winter 
that  the  heart  of  "  the  crazy  doctor'*  was  in 
the  right  place. 


196         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE   REVIVAL. 


Enough  has  now  been  said  to  show  the  cha- 
racter of  the  person  worthy  James  Winter  had 
to  encounter,  when,  breathless  with  running, 
he  knocked  at  the  back  door  of  "The  Last 
Halt,"  fully  determined  to  see  and  obtain 
the  assistance  of  its  master,  though  he  knew 
that  his  dark  hour  was  upon  him.  But  James 
felt  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  good  cause; 
moreover,  he  fancied  that  he  was  somewhat 
of  a  favourite  with  the  doctor,  who  had 
certainly  treated  him  with  more  civility  than 
he  was  accustomed  to  show  to  his  neighbours. 
Winter   found   Mrs.    Walters   quite   terrified, 


MARGAKET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  197 

as  his  brother  Joe  had  said,  at  the  thoughts 
of  disturbing  her  master  at  such  a  time; 
but  the  young  man's  earnest  entreaties, 
joined  to  her  own  compassionate  feelings 
for  the  poor  little  innocent  he  held  in  his 
arms,  at  length  induced  the  good  lady  to 
knock  at  the  parlour-door,  James  standing  by 
her  side,  at  her  own  desire,  to  keep  up  her 
courage. 

No  notice  was  taken  of  the  first  timid 
knocking,  which  was  perhaps  unheard ;  but  a 
much  more  decided  application  of  James's 
knuckles  brought  a  furious  "Who's  there? 
"Who  dares  disturb  me  now?" 

It  was  some  time  before  the  poor  house- 
keeper could  reply,  "  I  beg  pardon,  sir, 
I'm  sure ;  but  indeed  you  are  very  badly 
wanted.  Here's  young  Mr..  Winter  has 
brought   you   a   dead  baby,    and   wants   you 

to " 

17* 


198         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

"Silence,  woman!"  thundered  the  recluse, 
"  another  word  and  you  quit  my  service  for 
ever.     Begone  !  I  say,  instantly." 

The  housekeeper's  small  stock  of  courage 
not  enabling  her  to  proceed  any  further  in 
the  attempt,  James,  knowing  that  every  mo- 
ment was  precious,  now  thought  it  quite  time 
for  him  to  put  in  a  word,  and  he  endeavoured 
to  open  the  door,  saying,  "  Doctor !  Doctor 
Forrester !  'tis  a  matter  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence. I  must  see  you,  sir !  For  the  love 
of  Heaven  open  the  door  and  give  us  your 
help." 

Here  James,  in  his  impatience,  gave  a 
very  moderate  push;  the  weak  lock  yielded 
unexpectedly,  and  he  staggered  forward  with 
his  burden  into  the  presence  of  the  aston- 
ished Forrester.  Now  it  is  well  known  to 
those  who  have  the  care  of  insane  persons, 
that   nothing   controls   their   violence   so   ef- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  199 

fectually  as  a  determined  and  fearless  man- 
ner; and  though  our  unhappy  doctor  was 
not  absolutely  insane,  the  young  farmer's 
sudden  intrusion  and  resolute  countenance 
had  the  effect  of  calming  his  irritation,  in- 
stead of  increasing  it,  as  would  certainly  have 
been  the  case  had  his  mind  been  perfectly  free 
from  disease.  Forrester  addressed  his  un- 
ceremonious visiter  in  a  subdued  but  agitated 
tone ; — 

"  Winter,  you  are  a  rude  fellow  !  I  am 
busy  now.  I  am  ill — very  ill.  Call  to- 
morrow, and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you. — 
There,  good  bye,  leave  me  now,  I  beseech 
you." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Winter;  "there  isn't 
a  minute  to  be  lost.  Look  here!"  added 
he,  uncovering  the  child;  "this  looks  like 
a  dead  body,  but  the  life  is  in  it,  I  am 
pretty   sure,    and    you    can    preserve    it    if 


you  choose  to  try. — Refuse  your  assistance, 
and  this  child's  blood  will  be  upon  your 
hands." 

At  these  words  Forrester  fell  back  upon  a 
sofa,  and  gasped  for  breath,  like  one  who  had 
received  a  deadly  thrust,  while  his  features 
were  so  terribly  convulsed  that  "Winter  thought 
he  was  dying.  When  he  recovered  his  speech, 
apparently  quite  unconscious  of  his  visitor's 
presence,  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  agony 
and  terror  :  "  Blood  !  where  ?  What !  a  se- 
cond time  ?  Blood  upon  my  hands !  Will 
nothing  wash  out  the  stain  ?  Oh !  God  be 
merciful!" 

While  poor  Winter  stood  aghast  at  the 
extraordinary  effect  his  words  had  produced, 
thinking  that  he  really  had  a  madman  to  deal 
with,  Dr.  Forrester  became  gradually  more 
composed,  and  when  James  again  ventured 
to    urge   his    request,    he    suddenly   started 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  201 

up,  and  took  the  child  into  his  arms  to  exa- 
mine it. 

"My  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "what  do  you 
want  ?  I  cannot  bring  a  corpse  to  life ;  and 
this  poor  little  thing  seems  stone  dead, 
and — no,  it  is  not  quite  cold !  I  will  do  my 
utmost  to  save  its  life.  Here,  Mrs.  Walters  ! 
bring  the  softest  blanket  you  can  find.  Get  a 
quantity  of  soft  flannel  besides,  and  put  them 
all  by  the  kitchen  fire.  Tell  Betty  to  have 
plenty  of  hot  water  ready.  Quick,  quick, 
Mrs.  Walters  !  don't  stand  there  staring  at 
me.  Winter,  take  the  child  into  the  kitchen  : 
if  it  please  Almighty  God  she  shall  breathe 
again." 

Forrester's  energies  were  now  thoroughly 
aroused,  and  all  the  usual  means  for  cherish- 
ing the  doubtful  spark  of  existence  into  a 
flame  were  vigorously  used  by  himself  and 
the  two  old  women,  the  young  farmer  watch- 


202         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

ing  their  operations  with  an  interest  as  intense 
as  if  his  future  happiness  depended  upon  the 
issue. 

But  when  these  measures  had  been  per- 
sisted in  for  more  than  an  hour,  without  any 
appearance  of  success,  Winter  and  the  old 
women  began  to  give  up  all  hopes,  and  whis- 
pered to  each  other,  "  'Tis  of  no  use !  her 
spirit  has  been  in  heaven  long  ago."  Even 
Forrester  became  anxious  and  fidgety ;  when 
suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  exclaimed, 
"  How  foolish  not  to  have  thought  of  that 
before  !     Winter,  come  with  me." 

And  now  Betty's  tongue,  before  awed  into 
silence  by  the  presence  of  her  master,  began 
to  vibrate  freely  again. 

"  Ah  !  Mrs.  Walters!"  said  she,  "  master's 
mortal  after  all.  He  can't  do  every  thing, 
you  see,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  shan't  like 
him  all  the  better  for  it.     Now,  if  it  had  been 


MARGARET   SEATOX'S   VICTORY.  203 

sruch  a  poor  old  woman  as  me,  I  fancy  master 
wouldn't  have  taken  all  this  trouble  to  have 
brought  me  about  again,  if  I  had  been 
under  water  a  fortnight  or  more.  Ah !  if 
he  had  only  taken  my  advice,  and  instead 
of  all  this  rubbing  and  scrubbing,  and  puff- 
ing and  blowing,  had  given  the  child  a " 

Betty  was  prevented  from  finishing  her 
description  of  her  peculiar  process  for  re- 
storing suspended  animation  by  the  return 
of  Forrester  and  James  from  the  surgery, 
carrying  on  a  table  a  small  galvanic  ap- 
paratus, the  strange  form  of  which,  joined 
to  the  unpleasant  smell  of  the  hydrogen 
gas  which  it  evolved,  caused  the  eyes  and 
mouths  of  the  women  to  dilate  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  Betty,"  said  the  doctor; 
and  as  the  poor  old  cook  did  not  obey  fast 
enough   to   please   her  impatient  master,  he 


204         MARGARET   SEATONS   VICTORY. 

touched  her  elbows,  whether  intentionally 
or  not  was  never  known,  with  the  two  wires 
of  the  apparatus.  A  convulsive  leap  and 
a  yell  of  terror  proved  that  the  arrange- 
ment was  perfect,  and  Betty,  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  cause  of  her  strange  feel- 
ings, threw  herself  into  a  chair,  crying,  "  Oh 
the  paralytics  !  I've  had  a  fit,  sure  enough. 
I  am  in  a  fit  now ;  but  nobody  cares  for 
me." 

Taking  no  notice  of  this  new  patient,  For- 
rester now  hastened  to  try  the  efficacy  of 
galvanism  on  the  child.  The  first  applica- 
tion caused  such  a  fearful  convulsion  of  the 
limbs  that  the  terrified  spectators  could  not 
refrain  from  imitating  the  action,  appearing  as 
if  they  had  received  a  share  of  the  shock  them- 
selves. But  Forrester  remained  perfectly 
calm,  knowing  that  violent  motion  may  be  thus 
produced  in  a  body  when  life  has  long  been 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  205 

extinct.  And  now  a  different  direction  of 
the  galvanic  fluid  brought  the  lungs  under 
its  exciting  influence.  Breathing,  at  first 
weak  and  irregular,  now  commenced,  and 
soon  gained  strength  and  steadiness.  An 
uncertain  fluttering,  first  over  the  heart,  then 
at  the  wrist,  began  to  be  perceptible  to  the 
practised  and  sensitive  touch  of  the  doctor. 
Soon  the  whole  body  was  strangely  affected 
by  a  shuddering  motion.  Then,  oh  sight  of 
joy !  the  eyes  slowly  opened,  and  though 
dim  and  rayless,  and  closed  again  immedi- 
ately, they  gave  certain  proof  that  the  child's 
spirit  still  remained  the  tenant  of  her  body. 
I  need  not  describe  the  methods  that  were 
used  to  ensure  its  remaining  in  the  abode  it 
had  so  nearly  quitted  for  ever.  It  is  enough 
to  say,  that  in  another  hour,  the  little  girl, 
though  still  very  weak  and  ill,  was  sufficient- 
ly recovered  tc  be  able  to  swallow  some  warm 
18 


206         MARGARET  SE ATOM'S  VICTORY. 

milk,  and  soon  after  this,  she  fell  into  a 
sound  sleep  in  the  temporary  bed  which  For- 
rester had  ordered  to  be  prepared  for  her  in 
the  kitchen,  as  being  the  warmest  room  in  the 
house. 

Which  of  the  two  felt  the  greatest  joy  at 
this  resuscitation,  Forrester  or  Winter,  it  is 
difficult  to  say.  Both  were  well  rewarded  for 
their  exertions,  but  they  expressed  their  sen- 
sations very  differently. 

James  capered  about  the  kitchen,  entreat- 
ing that  one  of  the  old  women  would  dance 
with  him,  for  he  declared  that  he  must  either 
dance  or  die.  In  fact,  he  was  almost  insane 
with  joy.  Still  I  think  that  Forrester's  hap- 
piness must  have  been  greater,  for  when  the 
little  girl  first  opened  her  languid  blue  eyes, 
a  faint  smile  for  a  moment  gleamed  across 
his  pallid  face,  which  had  not  been  glad- 
dened by  such  an  expression  for  many  months. 


MARGARET    SEATON'S   VICTORY.  207 

The  particulars  of  the  preceding  account 
of  a  recovery  from  apparent  death  by  means 
of  galvanism  were  related  to  me  by  James 
Winter  himself.  But  I  have  heard  that 
Betty  gave  rather  a  different  version  of  the 
story,  a  few  days  afterwards,  to  a  party  of 
her  gossips,  at  a  farm-house  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

"  They  were  something  like  Chaney  pig- 
troughs,"  said  she;  "and  the  stuff  that  was 
in  them  smelt  like  pig's-wash  too,  only  a 
hundred  times  worse.  Then  master  took  a 
couple  of  long,  sharp-pointed  skewers,  and 
ran  them  right  through  the  child's  body ! 
'Tis  true,  I  tell  you,  for  I  myself  saw  the 
ends  come  quite  through  ;  and  sure  enough 
she'll  carry  the  marks  of  them  to  her  grave 
with  her.  And  so  the  smell  of  the  stuff 
and  the  pain  of  the  skewers  made  the  poor 
dear  child  sneeze  and  jump.     Yes,  I  believe 


i 


208  MAEGAEET   SEATON'S   VICTORY. 

she  did  jump,  indeed !  and  we  all  jumped ; 
and  that's  how  it  was,  you  see,  that  master 
brought  her  to  life  again." 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  209 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   PLOT. 

The  morning  after  the  shipwreck,  when 
young  Winter  called  at  Dr.  Forrester's  he  was 
delighted  to  find  that  the  little  girl  was  going 
on  as  favourably  as  could  be  wished,  and  that 
a  few  days'  careful  nursing  would  probably 
completely  restore  her  to  health  and  strength. 
The  exertions  of  yesterday,  and  the  happy  re- 
sult of  his  skill,  had  produced  such  a  favour- 
able effect  upon  Forrester's  mind,  that  his  two 
domestics  agreed  in  the  opinion  that,  if  he 
could  be  provided  with  a  half-drowned  child 
to   operate   upon  every  clay,  he   would   soon 

forget   his    miseries,   and    become   like   other 
18* 


210 

people.  Though,  still  wild  and  abstracted  in 
his  manner,  Winter  found  him  more  affable 
and  cheerful  than  he  expected ;  and  he  made 
many  inquiries  about  the  shipwreck,  and 
seemed  much  interested  in  the  account  of 
the  child's  wonderful  escape.  Now  it  was 
very  unusual  for  Forrester  to  address  a  ques- 
tion or  an  observation  to  any  person,  unless 
absolutely  necessary,  and  the  animation  he 
showed  on  this  subject  was  the  more  remark- 
able. 

Winter  informed  him  that  the  child  he 
had  saved  was  the  only  survivor  from  the 
wreck.  Many  bodies,  most  of  them  dread- 
fully mangled,  had  been  washed  up,  and 
much  valuable  property  had  been  recovered 
and  placed  in  a  large  barn,  till  the  owners  of 
the  ship  should  appear  ;  for  the  people  on  this 
part  of  the  coast  had  never  been  known  to  ex- 
hibit any  wrecking  propensities. 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  211 

The  name  of  the  ship  had  been  discovered, 
from  part  of  a  stern  of  a  boat  which  had  been 
thrown  on  shore,  with  "Margaret  Seaton" 
painted  on  it ;  but  nothing  had  been  found, 
either  on  the  dead  bodies  or  among  the  re- 
covered cargo,  by  which  the  names  of  any 
of  the  passengers  could  be  known.  But 
the  nature  of  the  goods  which  had  been 
saved  proved  that  the  ship  was  from  the  East 
Indies,  and  her  name  being  ascertained, 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  the 
owners. 

Having  been  absent  from  home  for  several 
days  at  a  distant  fair,  the  kind-hearted  young 
Winter,  at  his  next  visit,  was  not  surprised 
to  find  the  little  girl  perfectly  restored  to 
health,  and  radiant  with  childish  beauty; 
but  he  was  surprised  to  see  where  she  had 
snugly  established  herself — in  the  lap  of  the 
poor,    half-insane   Forrester ;    and  from   this 


212         MARGARET  SEATON'S   VICTORY. 

situation  it  was  not  very  easy  to  remove 
her  when  he  was  present.  He  had  relapsed 
into  his  usual  abstracted,  melancholy  mood, 
and  was  contemplating  the  child's  lovely 
face  with  an  expression  in  which  compas- 
sion was  singularly  mingled  with  an  air  of 
surprise  at  her  perfect  freedom  and  untiring 
volubility.  Though  her  face  and  complexion 
showed  that  she  was  of  European  parent- 
age, the  little  creature  was  merrily  chat- 
tering away  in  some  foreign  giberish,  pro- 
bably Hindostanee,  which  she  had  learned 
from  her  Indian  attendants,  while  her  know- 
ledge of  English  was  so  imperfect,  and  it 
was  so  difficult  to  induce  her  to  use  this 
language  at  all,  that  very  little  information 
could  be  obtained  from  her,  except  that  her 
name  was  "Peggy."  She  seemed  much  sur- 
prised at  her  protector's  silence  and  grave 
demeanor,  and  now  and  then  gave  his  face 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  213 

a  playful  slap  with  her  hand,  as  if  to  insist 
upon  her  right  to  a  portion  of  his  attention. 
When  this  happened,  it  was  amusing  to  ob- 
serve how  he  would  draw  back,  as  if,  half 
offended  at  her  familiarity,  he  intended  to 
set  the  child  upon  the  floor ;  but  this  was 
not  to  be  done  without  absolute  force,  for  a 
wonderful  instinct  seemed  to  have  taught 
her  to  cling  with  affection  to  him  who  had 
conferred  upon  her  a  second  life.  So  For- 
rester bent  his  head  down  over  her  again, 
as  if  he  hoped  to  find  consolation  and  hap- 
piness by  gazing  intently  into  her  pure  blue 
eyes, 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  call  her,  sir  ?" 
at  length  said  Winter.  "I  mean,  till  some- 
body shall  be  found  to  claim  her,  which  seems 
not  very  likely  from  the  account  received  from 
London." 

"What   do  I  mean  to   call  her,  James?" 


214 

replied  the  doctor,  starting  as  from  a  trance ; 
"'tis  no  concern  of  mine.  You  saved  her 
from  the  waves,  and  now  she  is  recovered 
you  must  take  her  to  your  own  house,  and 
give  her  what  name  you  please.  You  do  not 
suppose  that  I  am  going  to  sit  all  day  nursing 
a  baby  ?" 

"Very  well,  sir,  just  as  you  please — only 
I  thought  that  perhaps — however,  I  am  sure 
mother  will  do  her  best  for  the  child.  Then, 
sir,  for  a  name,  what  do  you  think  of  '  Mar- 
garet Seaton,'  as  that  was  the  name  of  the 
ship,  and  the  poor  little  girl  calls  herself 
'Peggy.'" 

"  Margaret  Seaton  !  a  very  good  name  ! — 
any  name  you  please,  James,"  replied  Forres- 
ter :  and  the  young  man  took  his  leave,  saying 
that  his  mother  would  call  for  the  child  the 
next  day. 

James  was  met  in  the  hall  by  Mrs.  Wal- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  215 

ters,  who  begged  to  have  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation with  him  in  the  kitchen.  When 
she  heard  what  had  passed,  the  old  lady 
looked  very  grave  indeed,  and  said,  "Mr. 
Winter,  this  will  never  do !  this  child  must 
not  leave  the  house ;  nor  she  shan't,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"  But  the  doctor  says  she  must,  Mrs.  Wal- 
ters." 

"  Well,  never  mind  that,  James,  only  you 
do  what  I  ask,  and  I'll  engage  that  we  shall 
manage  it  all  very  well.  Now  when  you  go 
home,  get  your  mother  to  send  a  message, 
saying  that  you  are  all  so  busy  just  now  with 
your  hay,  (which  is  true  enough,  you  know,) 
that  she  can't  conveniently  take  the  child  for 
a  fortnight  or  so.     Will  you  do  this,  James  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Walters,  for  you  may  be 
sure  that  I  dont  want  to  trouble  mother 
with    the    child :    only   if  the    doctor    wc^'t 


216         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

keep  her,  1  will ;  for  when  I  was  helping  to 
put  her  poor  father  into  his  coffin,  I  made  a 
vow  over  his  body,  that  his  child  should  never 
want  any  thing  as  long  as  I  had  it  to  give. 
But  I'll  take  your  message  to  mother,  and 
hope  'twill  all  be  for  the  best." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Walters,  "that's 
all  I  want  you  to  do ;  for  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing, that  if  we  could  but  contrive  to  make  my 
poor  master  really  fond  of  the  child,  he  would 
soon  forget  his  melancholy.  He'd  have  some- 
body to  talk  to  and  to  attend  to  when  he 
comes  home  from  those  dismal,  solitary  walks, 
instead  of  sitting  moping  by  himself  for  hours 
together.  Now,  I  verily  believe,"  continued 
the  benevolent  old  lady,  taking  little  Margaret 
in  her  arms,  "  I  verily  believe  that  this  child 
was  sent  from  heaven  on  purpose  ;  and  as  long 
as  she  is  in  the  house,  I'll  take  care  to  put  her 
in  his  way  as  much  as  possible.     Master  al- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  217 

ways  speaks  more  kindly  to  children  than  to 
any  one  else,  and  this  child  is  as  sweet  a  little 
creature  as  ever  breathed;  and  though  she 
can't  speak  much  English,  she  has  got  as  many 
winning,  coaxing  ways  with  her  as  an  angel. 
So  if  she  don't  contrive  to  twist  and  twine  her- 
self round  master's  heart  in  a  fortnight,  why  I 
don't  know  what  sort  of  stuff  his  heart  is  made 
of,  that's  all!  Mark  my  words,  James  Win- 
ter, if  he  don't  soon  love  her  like  his  own  child, 
he's  no  man  at  all,  but  an  evil  sjririt,  and  I  am 
sure  he  doesn't  deserve  that  any  respectable 
woman  should  live  with  him." 


19 


218         MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   CONFLICT. 


"Was  Mrs.  Walters  correct  in  her  judgment 
of  the  composition  of  her  master's  heart,  and 
of  the  insinuating,  and  love-compelling  quali- 
ties of  the  little  Margaret  Seaton? 

Did  Forrester  prove  himself  to  be  no  man, 
but  a  demon  in  the  human  form,  by  rejecting, 
as  a  worthless  gift,  the  pure  free-will  of- 
ferings of  childish  affection  and  confidence? 

Nearly  a  fortnight  had  passed  since  the 
day  when  Mrs.  Walters  had  communicated 
to  James  Winter  her  scheme  for  her  poor 
master's  benefit,  and,  according  to  her  pro- 
mise, she   had   contrived  that  the   little  girl 


MARGARET    SEATON'S   VICTORY.  219 

should  spend  a  great  part  of  her  time  in  the 
parlour,  when  he  was  at  home. 

In  the  first  few  days  hut  little  progress 
was  made.  Forrester  would  rarely  inquire 
for  the  child,  and  often  appeared  to  have 
forgotten  that  she  was  in  the  house.  But 
Margaret  had  not  forgotten  him,  and,  en- 
couraged by  Mrs.  "Walters,  was  always  heard 
knocking  at  the  parlour-door,  and  calling 
"Peggy,"  very  soon  after  his  return  home. 
He  could  not  refuse  to  admit  his  gentle 
visitor;  and  when  once  in  the  room,  she 
would  often  be  seated  on  his  knee,  or 
when  that  coveted  situation  was  denied  her, 
close  by  his  side  on  the  sofa,  either  en- 
gaged with  her  playthings,  or  trying  to  excite 
her  melancholy  companion  to  a  game  of 
romps. 

So  the  child,  by  her  constant  endearments 
and   winning   partiality,   laid   close   siege   to 


520         MAKGARET  SEATON'S  YICTORY. 

the  hypochondriac's  heart,  and  at  length  the 
approaches  were  won. 

One  afternoon,  Forrester  returned  home 
from  visiting  a  poor  man  upon  whom  he  had 
performed  a  difficult,  but  very  successful 
operation.  He  was  therefore  in  a  more 
cheerful  and  reasonable  mood  than  usual. 
Mrs.  Walters  observed  this,  and  said  to  Betty, 
"Now  Betty,  we'll  try  a  little  bit  of  an  ex- 
periment. Master  looks  better  than  he  has 
for  some  time,  so  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I  won't  let  the  child  go  and  knock  at  his  door, 
and  we  shall  see  whether  he  will  miss  her, 
and  ask  for  her.  We  shall  see,  Betty,  we 
shall  see." 

"Ah!  we  shall  see,  indeed!"  said  Betty, 
shaking  her  head. 

No  very  easy  matter  was  it  to  persuade 
little  Margaret  to  remain  in  the  kitchen, 
when  she  knew  that  her  papa,  as  she  already 


MARGARET    SEATCN'S   VICTORY.  221 

began  to  call  him,  was  returned.  But  by 
means  of  coaxing,  and  bribes  of  buttered  toast, 
the  women  managed  to  keep  her  tolerably 
quiet  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  till  the 
parlour  bell  rang,  and  then  the  gathering 
storm  of  her  indignation  burst  at  once,  when 
she  found  that  Mrs.  Walters  would  not  let 
her  accompany  her.  But  the  old  lady,  deter- 
mined to  go  through  her  "  little  bit  of  an  ex- 
periment," remained  inexorable,  and  poor 
Margaret  was  left  kicking  and  screaming  in 
Betty's  lap. 

And  now  Mrs.  Walters  stood  before  her 
master,  trying  with  all  her  might  to  do  that 
which  every  one  knows  is  exceedingly  diffi- 
cult, and  to  most  persons  absolutely  impos- 
sible. Mrs.  Walters  endeavoured  to  make  her 
face  appear  perfectly  calm  and  unconcerned, 
when   her    kind    heart    was    fluttering    with 

anxiety  for  the  success  of  her   scheme,   and 
19* 


222        MAEGAEET  SEATON'S  VICTOEY. 

her  motherly  feelings  sorely  distressed  in 
consequence  of  her  assumed  severity  to  the 
little  girl.  No  marvel  then  that  the  good 
woman's  face  would  not  obey  her  will,  and 
so  she  blew  her  nose,  and  wiped  her  eyes, 
saying,  "  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  this  cold  in  my 

head " 

Taking  no  notice  of  her  agitation  or 
apology,  her  master  made  her  happy,  by  in- 
quiring at  once  where  Margaret  was,  and  why 
she  did  not  come  into  the  parlour  as  usual. 
Here,  in  justice  to  Forrester,  it  should  be 
known  that  he  had  missed  his  affectionate 
little  friend,  and  even  felt  a  half-acknow- 
ledged desire  for  her  company,  as  soon  as 
he  found  himself  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
room;  but,  since  his  return,  he  had  been 
engaged  in  searching  among  his  books,  for 
a  parallel  case  to  that  of  the  poor  man 
whose   bedside   he    had   just    quitted.      But 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  223 

his  investigations  were  finished,  and  so  he  in- 
quired, "  Where  is  Margaret,  Mrs.  Walters  ? 
and  why  does  she  scream  so  ?" 

"  In  the  kitchen,  sir,  with  Betty." 

"  Why  does  she  stay  there  ?  does  she  like 
the  kitchen  better  than  the  parlour  ?" 

"  Oh  dear  no,  sir,"  said  the  delighted  house- 
keeper; "she  wants  to  come  in  badly  enough; 
but  I  was  afraid  she  might  trouble  you,  and 
she's  making  a  fine  noise  about  it.  I'll  go  and 
bring  her  in  directly." 

When  Mrs.  Walters  said  this,  she  no 
doubt  fully  intended  to  perform  her  promise, 
but  Margaret's  impatience  prevented  her 
from  doing  so.  She  did  not  wait  to  be 
brought  in.  After  exerting  to  the  utmost 
her  small  ability  in  kicking,  biting,  scratching, 
and  struggling,  till  she  had  worked  herself 
almost  out  of  her  clothes,  and  quite  into  a 
furious  passion,  the  little  girl,    finding   that 


224 

nothing  else  could  induce  Betty  to  relax  her 
iron  grasp,  at  last  effected  her  object  by  seiz- 
ing a  cup  of  hot  tea,  and  dashing  it  over  her 
tormentor's  face  and  neck. 

"  Away  with  thee,  then  !"  said  the  discom- 
fited cook.  "There,  run  in  to  master,  do. 
Thee  art  as  wild  and  unmanageable  as  he  is,  I 
do  declare." 

As  some  excuse  for  the  child's  outrageous 
conduct,  we  must  remember  her  Indian  edu- 
cation, and  that  this  was  probably  the  first 
time  that  any  serious  opposition  had  been 
offered  to  her  inclinations.  Moreover,  her 
imperfect  knowledge  of  English  made  her 
still  more  unreasonable  and  difficult  to  man- 
age. 

While  Betty  was  engaged  in  wiping  up 
the  scalding  deluge  from  her  face,  the  vic- 
torious Margaret  reached  the  door,  dashed 
past  Mrs.  Walters,  who  at  that  moment  en- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  225 

tered  the  kitchen,  and  before  the  stiff  old  lady 
could  commence  a  pursuit,  she  was  in  the  par- 
lour. How  different  did  she  appear  from  the 
smiling,  neatly  dressed  little  Peggy,  that  For- 
rester had  been  accustomed  to  see  !  Alas  !  she 
bore  about  her  many  marks  of  the  recent  fierce 
contest.  Her  frock  was  rumpled  and  torn  en- 
tirely off  one  shoulder ;  her  shoes  were  kicked 
off  in  the  struggle  and  left  in  the  kitchen ;  her 
beautiful  curls  were  in  grievous  disorder ;  and 
her  face,  neck,  and  bosom  crimsoned  with  an- 
ger and  exertion.  As  for  her  eyes,  no  one 
could  have  supposed  that  their  mild,  heavenly 
expression  could  have  so  soon  been  exchanged 
for  a  look  of  rage  and  defiance.  But  nature 
had  been  so  bountiful  in  her  gifts  to  this  child, 
that  though  her  appearance  was  that  of  a  little 
fury,  it  was  still  of  a  very  beautiful  fury. 

As  the  little  Margaret  Seaton,  by  the  well- 
timed  application  of  hot  water,  had  gained  an 


undoubted  victory  over  her  antagonist  in  the 
kitchen,  so  now,  by  this  passionate  exhibition 
of  her  attachment,  and  by  her  tears  of  joy, 
when  she  found  herself  in  Forrester's  arms, 
she  triumphed  at  length  over  his  half-yielding 
coldness  and  indifference,  and  secured  for  her- 
self a  friend  and  protector,  in  place  of  the  fa- 
ther who  had  sacrificed  his  own  life  for  her 
safety. 

When  Mrs.  Walters  followed  her  unruly 
charge  into  the  parlour,  she  found  her  master 
tenderly  embracing  the  weeping  child,  and 
drying  the  tears  that  flowed  down  her  cheeks. 
The  good  woman  declared  that  the  handker- 
chief was  also  occasionally  applied  to  his  own 
eyes ;  but  as  her  vision  was  greatly  obscured 
at  the  time  by  a  superabundant  supply  of 
moisture,  she  might  have  been  mistaken  as  to 
this  point.  So,  as  Forrester  took  no  notice  of 
her,  and  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  her  pre- 


MARGARET   SEATOX'S   VICTORY.  227 

sence,  she  left  the  room,  but  not  till  she  had 
heard  him  exclaim,  in  a  voice  faltering  with 
emotion,  "  Sent  from  heaven  to  comfort  me  ? 
Thrown  up  by  the  mighty  deep  to  rescue  from 
utter  misery  and  despair  a  wretch  unworthy  of 
such  a  blessing  ?  Oh  !  if  the  agony  I  have  en- 
dured might  be  received  as  some  atonement ! 
Come,  then,  sweet  child,  I  accept  thee  as  a 
most  precious  token  that  a  merciful  God  has 
not  cast  me  off  for  eyer." 


228         MARGARET  SEATON  S  VICTORY 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   LETTER. 

The  next  day  Forrester  could  not  be  easy 
till  he  had  seen  young  Winter,  and  informed 
him  of  the  alteration  in  his  plans  respecting 
little  Margaret.  James  heard  of  his  deter- 
mination with  great  joy  upon  all  accounts. 
He  was  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  charge  of 
the  little  girl,  who  would  also  be  much  better 
provided  for  in  her  present  situation,  than 
by  a  man  of  his  own  limited  means ;  and  he 
rejoiced  on  Forrester's  account,  that  he  had 
become  attached  to  the  child;  for  he  fully 
agreed  with  Mrs.  Walters,  that  his  having 
such   an    object    of    interest    and    affection, 


MARGARET   SEATON'S  YICTGRY.  229 

would  be  the  most  effectual  means  of  chas- 
ing away  those  terrible  recollections  of  the 
past,  which,  if  indulged  in,  seemed  likely  t*o 
end  in  confirmed  insanity.  Even  if  the 
doctor's  mental  disease  should  not  mend,  or 
should  increase,  so  as  to  render  him  an  un- 
fit protector  for  the  child,  James  knew  that 
he  should  receive  certain  information  on  the 
subject  from  his  friend  Mrs.  "Walters,  and  in 
this  case  proper  steps  might  be  taken  to  re- 
move her. 

Several  persons  who  met  Forrester  on  his 
way  home  from  the  farm  that  morning,  could 
not  help  being  struck  with  his  altered  de- 
meanor. Instead  of  creeping  slowly  along 
in  deep  abstraction,  and  sometimes  sitting 
motionless  for  an  hour  or  more  on  a  stile  or 
bank,  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his  chest,  he 
now  walked  erect,  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  ex- 
ceedingly astonished  his  humble  acquaint- 
20 


230         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

ance  by  cheerfully  returning  their  salutes 
as  lie  passed  them.  Such  an  act  of  con- 
descension from  "the  crazy  doctor"  was  in- 
deed most  unusual  and  unexpected. 

But  though  this  sudden  excitement  had 
had  the  happy  effect  of  arousing  Forrester's 
energies,  and  of  causing  him  for  a  time  to 
throw  off  his  secret  weight  of  sorrow,  it  was 
very  evident  that  the  cause  still  remained, 
and  could  not  long  be  forgotten.  He  was 
still  a  most  melancholy  creature,  and  at 
times  almost  heart-broken:  but  his  seasons 
of  terrible  depression  were  certainly  of 
shorter  duration  and  of  less  frequent  oc- 
currence than  formerly.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  foul  demon  despair  must  at  length  be 
vanquished,  by  the  gentle  influence  of  such  an 
affectionate,  merry-hearted  little  companion, 
is  Margaret  Seaton. 

Some  months  passed  away,  and  the  attach- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  231 

ment  of  this  strangely-assorted  pair  increased 
almost   daily.      As  little  Margaret  began  to 
talk  English   instead  of  her   Indian  jargon, 
she  became  more  of  a  companion  to  Forres- 
ter, who  would  take  great  delight  in  teaching 
his   dear   little   adopted    child   the  names   of 
various  objects,    by  means   of  sketches  on  a 
slate.      So   the   dull   rainy   days,    which,   by 
confining   him   to   the  house,    were  formerly 
terrible   visitations  to  him,   would   now  often 
pass  away  happily,  and  cast  no   shadow  over 
his   spirits.     Still   he   was    occasionally   sub- 
ject, sometimes  without  any  apparent  cause, 
to  grievous  fits  of  despondency,  out  of  which 
even  the  endearments  of  his  little  Margaret 
could  not  always  arouse  him.     Mrs.  Waiters 
had  remarked  that  a  dark   day  was  sure  to 
follow  the  receipt  of  a  certain  letter  with  the 
London  post-mark,  and  directed  in  a  crampt 
lawyer's  hand.     What  could  Margaret  do  to 


232         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

console  her  miserable  companion  at  these 
seasons  of  despair  ?  When  the  affectionate 
and  sensitive  child  found  that  her  prattle 
and  playful  attempts  to  engage  his  attention 
were  unheeded,  suddenly  throwing  off  her 
gaiety,  she  would  creep  close  to  his  side, 
and  endeavour  to  get  possession  of  his  hand. 
There  she  would  stand,  peering  into  his  wo- 
begone  face  with  a  most  melancholy  and  in- 
quiring look ;  and  the  scene  generally  ended 
in  a  passionate  flood  of  tears,  when  she 
found  that  her  attentions  and  caresses  were 
still  unnoticed  and  unreturned.  Now  this 
affecting  display  of  her  love  had  often  the 
effect  of  rousing  the  melancholy  man  from 
his  trance,  and  in  endeavouring  to  soothe 
her  distress  he  would  for  a  time  forget  his 
own  sorrows.  One  thing  was  remarkable, 
and  proved  that  the  child  had  gained  a 
strong    hold    on     his    affections — though    in 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  233 

his  clouded  moments  he  was  generally  mo- 
rose, and  even  savage  in  his  manner  to 
others,  he  was  never  known  to  show  the  least 
symptom  of  anger  or  impatience  to  Mar- 
garet, though  the  child,  with  confiding  love, 
would  frequently  climb  into  his  lap,  and  en- 
deavour to  draw  away  his  hands  from  his 
face. 

One  day,  when  Forrester  was  out,  the  black, 
ominous-looking  London  letter  arrived. 

"  There,  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Walters,  as  she 

returned  with  it  in  her  hand ;  "there's  an  end 

of  the  fine  weather  !  and  poor  master  has  been 

so  cheerful  for  the  last  week  or  more.     I'm 

pretty   sure   he's   getting  fatter   too,    Betty. 

Oh  !  if  it  wasn't  for  this  tiresome  letter  !     The 

writing  isn't  like  a  Christian's  writing,  neither, 

but  all  black  and  crooked.     I  declare  I've  half 

a  mind  ."     Here   Mrs.  Walters   looked 

significantly  at  the  fire. 
20* 


234 

"Now  do  !"  cried  Betty,  "do  burn  it,  Mrs. 
Walters  !  I'll  never  tell ;  and  by  good  luck  the 
child  is  gone  out  a  walking  with  him,  so  he'll 
never  know  anything  about  it." 

The  temptation  to  commit  this  messenger  of 
evil  tidings  to  the  flames  was  hardly  to  be  re- 
sisted ;  but  a  discovery  would  be  dreadful,  and 
Mrs.  Walters  stood  undecided. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  the  matter  might 
have  been  settled,  but  at  this  moment  Forres- 
ter was  heard  in  the  hall.  He  had  met  the 
postman,  and  now  sent  Margaret  into  the 
kitchen  for  the  letter.  Mrs.  Walters  gave  it 
into  her  hand  with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the 
head,  saying,  "  Ah,  poor  dear !  it  will  be  a  dull 
time  of  it  for  thee  now." 

When  Forrester  had  retired  to  his  own  bed- 
room, he  read  the  following : — 
"Dear  Sir, 

"  I  am  sorry  to  inform  you  that  all  my  en- 


'MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY.  235 

deavours  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  your  brother, 
Captain  Richard  Forrester,  are  still,  as  I 
feared  would  be  the  case,  entirely  unsuccess- 
ful. Not  the  smallest  additional  information 
has  been  obtained  since  my  last. 

"  An  overland  mail  from  India  brings  intel- 
ligence respecting  the  ship  wrecked  on  your 
coast  last  summer.  Her  name,  as  you  sup- 
posed, was  the  'Margaret  Seaton,'  and  she  was 
the  property  of  a  Mr.  Frederick  Seaton,  who, 
with  his  only  child,  a  little  girl  about  five  years 
of  age,  were  returning  to  England,,  in  her. 
It  appears  that  this  gentleman  had  no  near  re- 
lations, either  in  India  or  England,  therefore 
there  is  no  probability  whatever  that  any  per- 
son will  claim  the  child  you  have  taken  under 
your  protection." 

Here  followed  a  statement  of  some  money 
transactions  ;  and  the  letter  was  wound  up  by 
the   writer,    Simon    Searchwell,    offering    his 


236         MAEGAEET  SEATON'S  VICTOEY. 

usual  assurance   of  "devoted  services,"    &c. 
&c. 

At  the  first  paragraph  of  Simon's  communi- 
cation, the  face  of  the  reader  became  much 
disturbed,  and  he  threw  -the  letter  from  him, 
exclaiming: — "No  hope!  none  whatever!  I 
must  bear  my  heavy  burden  still — till  it 
presses  me  down  to  the  grave  !"  Then,  after 
musing  for  some  time,  his  eye  accidentally  fell 
upon  the  name  "Margaret  Seaton,"  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  letter,  which  he  had  no 
sooner  finished  than  he  hastened  down  stairs, 
saying,  "  Old  Simon  has  sent  me  good  tidings 
for  once.  Margaret,  Margaret,  my  dear ! 
Where  is  little  Margaret,  Mrs.  Walters?" 

She  was  close  at  hand,  and  Mrs.  Walters, 
expecting  that  the  dreaded  letter  would  have 
had  a  very  different  effect  upon  her  master, 
was  surprised  and  delighted  to  see  him  take 
the  child  in  his  arms,  kissing  her  most  affec- 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  237 

tionately,  and  calling  her  "his  own  darling 
girl," — "his  own  dear  little  Margaret." 

"None  can  tear  thee  from  me  now,"  said 
Forrester,  placing  the  sweet  child  on  his  knee, 
and  gazing  on  his  treasure  with  an  expression 
of  as  much  happiness  as  it  was  possible  for  his 
melancholy  face  to  wear.  He  had  felt  great 
uneasiness  about  the  possibility  of  the  little 
girl's  being  claimed  by  some  relation,  and 
Simon  Searchwell's  information  on  the  subject 
more  than  neutralized  the  effect  of  the  bad 
tidings  contained  in  the  first  part  of  his  epistle. 

"Now  this  will  teach  me  never  to  have  any 
hand  in  burning  other  people's  letters,"  said 
Betty,  when  she  heard  the  good  news. 


238         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  VICTORY. 

The  sweet-toned  voice  and  merry  laugh 
of  the  little  Margaret  Se'aton  have  now  been 
heard  in  the  Last  Halt  for  more  than  four 
years.  That  time  has  not  elapsed  without 
producing  a  gradual,  but  decided  change, 
both  in  the  once  half-crazed  Forrester, 
and  in  his  adopted  daughter.  Margaret  is 
much  grown,  of  course,  and,  if  possible,  much 
improved ;  though  that  the  latter  result  is  not 
so  inevitable  as  the  former,  sad  experience  in 
the  mental  and  personal  changes  of  children 
will  testify.  But  little  Margaret  is  improved ; 
time  has  added  a  more  perfect  beauty  to  her 


MARGARET    SEATON'S   VICTORY.  239 

face ;  and  as  Betty  has  had  no  more  cups  of 
tea  thrown  over  her,  she  is  able  and  willing  to 
add  her  testimony  that  the  little  girl's  fiery 
and  ungovernable  temper  has  been  quite  sub- 
dued by  the  kind  and  judicious  management 
of  her  protector. 

(Within  the  safe  enclosure  of  a  parenthesis, 
which  impatient  readers  may  pass  by  at  their 
pleasure,  and  which  perhaps  one  reader  alone 
will  fully  understand,  the  faithful  historian  of 
these  early  spring  days  of  Margaret  Seaton 
cannot  refrain  from  inscribing  a  few  words,  in 
remembrance  of  her  many  endearing  quali- 
ties, and  of  those  most  happy  hours  he  has 
passed  in  her  society.  For  little  Margaret, 
though  delightfully  simple  and  child-like  in 
her  manners,  possessed  intelligence  and 
companionable  qualities  very  far  beyond  her 
years.  And  her  voice — so  sweet  and  clear,  so 
melodious  in  its  tones !     Will  its  music  ever 


240         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

visit  my  ears  again?  A  warm  friend  and 
admirer  of  the  very  young  portion  of  the 
human  race,  (pure,  bright  blossoms,  amidst  a 
howling  wilderness  of  grim  and  ungraceful 
maturity !)  I  am  happy  in  the  society  of 
all  children,  and  can  number  among  my 
dearest  and  most  valued  friends,  many 
sweet  young  creatures,  whose  smiles  might 
banish  melancholy  from  the  most  deso- 
late heart.  Thanks  for  your  affection,  my 
dear  little  friends !  It  is  gratefully  re- 
ceived and  returned  with  interest.  But 
when  I  think  of  Margaret  and  of  bright 
days  that  are  past,  ah !  then  I  cannot  but 
repeat  with  a  sigh,  "  Heu  !  quanto  minus  est 
cum  reliquis  versari  quam  tui  meminisse  !"*) 

*  I  think  of  thee ! — And  as  the  purer  ray 
Of  sunshine  maketh  tapers  dimly  gleam, 
So  fond  remembrance  of  a  brighter  day 
Outshineth  present  joys  ;  all  these  I  deem 
Faint  stars  extinguish'd  in  the  morning's  beam. 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  241 

How  has  Margaret  been  employed  during 
these  four  years  ?  In  learning  to  speak  and 
read  English,  and  in  acquiring  such  know- 
ledge as  little  girls  of  her  age  and  station  in 
life  usually  possess  ?  We  may  be  certain 
that  Forrester  has  not  neglected  his  duties  as 
a  gentle  instructor  to  a  most  intelligent  and 
attentive  scholar.  But  his  instructions  have 
not  been  conveyed  in  the  manner  usually 
adopted  by  salaried  teachers,  and  the  happy 
Margaret  knows  very  little  of  stated  tasks, 
or  of  fixed  hours  for  learning  them.  Still 
more  ignorant  is  this  fortunate  child  of  the 
name  and  uses  of  that  melancholy  apartment, 
a  school-room.  Forrester  and  his  gentle  pupil 
may  often  be  seen  pursuing  their  studies,  with- 
out the  aid  of  books, — in  the  river-side  mea- 
dows, in  the  silent  woods,  by  the  rocky  margin 
of  the  sea. 

But   besides   the    usual    occupations   of  a 
21 


242  MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

happy  country-bred  child,  Margaret  has  un- 
consciously been  engaged  in  a  more  im- 
portant work.  By  the  irresistible  influence 
of  her  affection  and  sweet  companionship, 
she  has  accomplished  the  difficult  task  al- 
lotted to  her  to  perform.  She  has  gained 
a  victory!  triumphed  over  grim  despair — 
chased  away  insanity  from  an  over-sensitive 
mind,  clouded  by  fearful  recollections  and 
remorse.  The  struggle  is  ended,  and  the 
victory  is  hers,  for  it  has  pleased  a  merciful 
God  that  the  weak  should  overcome  the 
strong. 

Is  Forrester  then  no  longer  a  melancholy, 
sour-tempered  man  ?  He  is  a  thoughtful 
man,  and  sometimes  even  a  slight  shade  of 
melancholy  will  steal  over  his  spirits ;  but  per- 
haps we  should  not  wonder  at  this,  nor  wish  it 
to  be  otherwise,  if  the  history  of  his  past  life 
could  be  disclosed  to  us. 


MARGARET   SEATOtf'S   VICTORY.        .  2-13 

And  those  visitations  of  terrible  depression, 
those  doubtful  contests  between  reason  and 
insanity?  Many  months  have  now  passed 
away  without  the  recurrence  of  the  dreaded 
infliction :  Forrester  can  even  break  the  seal 
of  a  letter  from  his  faithful  agent,  Simon 
Searchwell,  with  a  steady  hand,  and  can 
read  the  contents  with  calmness,  though  still 
not  without  some  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment. "It  is  a  useless  search,"  he  will  say; 
"Yet  I  would  fain  know  the  worst, — God 
willing : — but  his  mercy  hath  soothed  the 
wound." 

And  in  Forrester's  manners  and  beha- 
viour to  his  humble  neighbours,  what  a 
change  has  taken  place  !  Kind  and  affable 
to  all,  no  provocation  of  silly  question  or 
remark  can  ruffle  his  temper,  01  call  forth  an 
angry  reply.  Even  a  fee  might  now  be 
offered  with  impunity,  though  certainly  with 


244:         MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

as  little  chance  of  acceptance  as  ever.  The 
name  of  the  "crazy  doctor"  has  long  been 
discontinued,  and  almost  forgotten,  by  his 
grateful  pensioners,  among  whom  he  con- 
tinues to  labour  with  untiring  zeal  and 
benevolence.  By  day  or  night,  in  fine  wea- 
ther or  foul,  a  call  to  the  bedside  of  a  suffer- 
ing brother  or  sister  is  always  promptly 
obeyed ;  for  this  benevolent  young  man  seems 
to  act  strictly  upon  the  principle,  that  the 
enviable  and  godlike  power  of  healing  has 
been  bestowed  upon  him  for  the  benefit  of  his 
fellow-creatures,  and  that  he  is  fully  account- 
able for  the  diligent  use  of  the  gift. 

But  though  the  "good  Dr.  Forrester,"  as  he 
is  now  generally  called,  is  kind  and  attentive 
to  all  his  humble  patients,  he  shows  a  strong 
partiality,  for  which  he  was  always  remark- 
able. His  favourite  patients  are  young  chil- 
dren.    If  these  require  the  aid  of  his  skill,  his 


MARGARET   SEATON'S   VICTORY.  245 

kindness  and  affectionate  interest  have  no 
bounds;  and  where  a  cure  cannot  be  hoped 
for,  his  attention  is  unwearied  in  devising  the 
most  effectual  means  for  the  alleviation  of 
their  sufferings.  When  Forrester's  troubles 
occasioned  him  to  leave  an  already  extensive 
practice  in  London,  his  departure  was  deeply 
regretted  by  many  an  anxious  mother,  whose 
darlings  had  been  snatched  from  the  jaws 
of  death  by  his  extraordinary  skill  in 
this  most  interesting  branch  of  his  profes- 
sion. . 

It  is  a  glorious  morning  in  June,  and  For- 
rester and  Margaret  are  seated  in  the  shade 
of  a  thick-leaved  chestnut,  in  the  trim  little 
garden  of  the  "  Last  Halt."  Beautiful  sight, 
that  pensive,  noble-looking  man  and  graceful 
child,  who  love  each  other  with  such  a  pure, 
undivided   affection  !      Forrester   is   reading, 

but  not  so  attentively  that  he  cannot  take  his 
21* 


246         MARGARET   SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

eyes  from  his  book,  to  render  prompt  and 
oft-requested  advice  or  assistance  to  little 
Margaret,  who  is  endeavouring  to  copy  a 
drawing,  which,  for  want  of  a  better  support, 
she  has  pinned  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree  before 
her. 

But  is  not  that  the  old  postman  hobbling  up 
to  the  gate  ?  Forrester  comes  forward  to  meet 
him,  repeating,  with  deep  feeling,  from  the 
book  he  has  just  laid  down, 

"  Give  me  but 
Something  whereunto  I  may  bind  my  heart, 
Something  to  love,  to  lean  upon,  to  clasp 
Affection's  tendrils  round." 

"  But  how  is  this  ?"  he  continues,  when  he 
has  received  the  letters.  "  What  means  this  ? 
Old  Simon  again !  Earlier  by  some  weeks 
than  I  expected  to  hear  from  him.  Doubtless 
the  same  evil  tidings.' ' 


MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY.  247 

So  Forrester  leisurely  opens  the  letter, 
repeating  almost  unconsciously,  "Something 
whereunto  I  may  bind  my  heart,  something 
— Ha  ?  what  means  this  ?  Do  I  dream  V  he 
exclaims,  when  the  lawyer's  cramped  charac- 
ters are  at  length  unfolded  to  his  view.  He 
reads  with  eager,  flashing  eyes,  and  with  face 
deadly  pale  and  red  by  turns.  Lo !  now 
the  irresistible  truth  is  before  him.  It  is  no 
dreamy  illusion,  then,  but  a  glorious  cer- 
tainty of  happiness.  Forrester  clasps  his 
hands  together,  and  falls  down  on  his 
knees  upon  the  grass;  but  though  his  lips 
move,  his  thanksgivings  are  inaudible,  save 
to  that  Being  before  whose  throne  they 
are  offered  up.  Little  Margaret,  astonished 
at  this  violent  emotion,  throws  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  bursts  into  tears.  For- 
rester  presses  her  to   his  heart  in   silence, 


248         MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

for  how  can  words  express  the  overflowings 
of  his  happiness  and  love  ? 

But  what  can  old  Simon  have  said  to 
have  occasioned  this  extraordinary  scene? 
Read! 

"  Dear  Sir, 

"  I  have  at  length  the  happiness  to  inform 
you  that  the  investigation  in  which,  at  your 
desire,  I  have  so  long  been  engaged,  has 
now,  quite  unexpectedly  to  me,  terminated 
most  successfully.  One  of  the  many  agents 
employed  by  me  in  this  business  has  just 
arrived  from  the  West  Indies,  and  has 
furnished  me  with  most  certain  proofs  that 
Captain  Richard  Forrester  did  not  perish  in 
the  terrible  affray  on  the  river,  when  in  self- 
defence  your  hand  was  raised  against  your 
brother's  life.  Severely  wounded  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man  certainly  was ;  but  I  have 
now  before  me  documents  which  prove  that  he 


MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY.  249 

perfectly  recovered  from  his  injury,  and  that 
two  years  after  the  encounter,  he  perished 
disgracefully  in  a  drunken  brawl  in  the  West 
Indies.  I  grieve  to  add  that  the  letter 
you  received  soon  after  the  encounter,  in- 
forming you  that  your  brother  had  died  of 
the  wound  you  had  inflicted,  was  written  at 
his  own  request,  by  one  of  his  profligate 
companions,  who  assisted  in  the  attack,  and 
who  would  have  shared  in  the  property  Cap- 
tain Forrester  fancied  would  have  fallen  to 
him,  in  the  event  of  your  death.  By  this  de- 
ception it  is  probable  that  your  unfortunate 
brother  hoped  to  put  you  off  your  guard,  in 
case  an  opportunity  should  offer  for  another 
attack  upon  your  life. 

"I  have  only  to  add,  that  I  shall  re- 
tain the  important  documents  above  re- 
ferred to,  till  I  receive  your  orders  respecting 
them. 


250        MARGARET  SEATON'S  VICTORY. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  with  continued 
offers  of  my  best  services, 
"  Sir, 
"Your  most  obedient  and  devoted  servant, 
"  Simon  Searchwell." 


THE  END. 


